When All is Lost
by Quiet2885
Summary: Modern. Will a deformed man’s desire for revenge destroy the future of a young couple? Or were all three fated to begin this dark journey and face the evils of the past? A story of the struggle between hatred and love, vengeance and redemption. COMPLETE.
1. Part 1: Encounters

It seems that it's impossible for me to resist writing, especially now that school's out. So here is Quiet2885 with another story. I have to admit that I'm nervous about this persistent plot bunny. It's very AU, and I'm honestly not sure if I can make it work. But if you're looking for something a bit different from the usual then you've found it. There will be mostly POTO, along with touches of Beauty and the Beast and some old horror movies. It's not really a horror story, though. More of a mixture of mystery, suspense, and romance. POTO influences will be primarily Kay/Leroux, with a slightly younger Erik. With that, I'll let you start reading this first short chapter.

Note: This story was originally rated T. After some consideration, I decided to move the rating up as a precaution. There is no strong sexual content, but there is fairly graphic violence and disturbing situations.

Disclaimer: I sadly do not own the characters of _The Phantom of the Opera_. Everything belongs to Gaston Leroux. _Phantom_ is owned by Susan Kay.

**Read and Review!**

Was it old age that caused his joints to ache and swell as he stepped over the creaking wooden floorboards? Was it merely age that bore down upon his slumped shoulders, making his hands shake and his skin tingle with cold? Or had his conscience finally caught up with him?

Sometimes he wished for the end to come, particularly at this unnerving moment, as he walked up behind the turned back of the looming shadow. There was no longer a craving for justice in his veins...no more hatred of those who had wronged him. Somewhere along the journey, Nadir Khan had lost his ardor for the entire mission. At some point, he no longer cared what happened.

The others did care, though. And the shadow that stood before him cared very much. And he was bound to the shadow for the rest of his life. After all, where else would he go? It was far too late to begin life anew, and he didn't want to try. There was only this mission. That was all he had left.

The shadowy man did not acknowledge his presence. Still, Nadir dared to speak. "De Chagny has been located. In Asia." He paused but received no comment. "Should I make arrangements?"

The shadow did not turn around. "No," he replied in a voice just above a whisper. It was a voice that could make even the bravest man's hair stand on end. "We will not travel that distance for one pathetic excuse of a man. Did you not read any of the literature I gave you?"

Nadir hesitated, tiptoing around the accusatory question with the utmost care. "I have been occupied arranging everything for the first...assignment. I am sorry."

"Or perhaps you are busy staring out windows for long hours and bemoaning the passage of your useless life?" A chuckle. "No matter. All that is needed to get to the elder de Chagny is directly in front of us. Right in the ideal form of his younger brother. Such a brave boy, too!" The voice grew more bitter with every word. "Constantly exposing himself to public attention without a care in the world!" Sarcasm oozed from the icy voice. "And he donates to charity! Isn't that delightful? What a noble citizen! A treasure to his community, he's called! I present to you the renowned Raoul de Chagny! " The shadow finally whirled around in a swirl of blackness and nonchalantly tossed him a newspaper clipping.

Nadir caught it and looked down. A young man, around the age of twenty-five, smiled up at him, cropped blond hair framing a handsome face. Beside him was a golden-haired female, also the societal ideal of beauty. She was wearing a lavender sun dress that revealed a pair of slender tanned legs, smiling at the camera as her blue eyes glinted in the daylight. He could not help but momentarily smile back at them. They seemed so distant from his current world. "Who is the girl?" he quietly asked.

"I do not know, nor do I care," replied the shadowy man, waving his hand with disdain. "Likely a spoiled wench clinging onto his arm and taking what she can. I am only interested in him."

He swallowed and stared down at the happy couple. "It seems a shame to..."

"Oh, do not start this nonsense again! Damn your conscience!" The shadowy man stepped forward, the yellow eyes inflamed with hatred behind the mask that covered his entire profile. "You care for their welfare! Why? Tell me, my old friend! Will you ever awaken to the presence of your wife again? Will you ever lay eyes upon your newborn son? Is there really any more reason for you to live? Is there purpose to your excuse for a life? _Is there_?"

"No," he sickly whispered, his hands trembling from despair. "There isn't."

"Then why should you care anything for their welfare?" he hissed. " It is they who are the cause of our misery. You will never see your wife again! I will never be able to walk down a street in the middle of broad daylight without a lynch mob following behind! We have no purpose, my friend. We have nothing. Only this..."

"Yes," Nadir whispered, subconsciously crumpling the picture in his hand and squishing the faces of the happy couple together. A tear streamed down his face, and he nodded. "Only this purpose."

"We will finish what we started," whispered the shadow, a hint of grief now present within the rage. "Four more requiems. And then we will be vindicated."

"Yes." He tucked the clipping into his pocket. "We will finish what we have started."

* * *

Tucked away in the heart of Chicago, the brick building was only thirty-three stories tall, almost minuscule compared to the skyscrapers that surrounded it. No tourist or passerby would ever give it a second glance. Still, when the elevator was under repair, getting to the twenty-second floor was a struggle. Raoul de Chagny was out of breath by the time he had climbed over a dozen flights of stairs. Panting heavily, he paused for a moment at the top, looking left and right down the empty corridors. After figuring out the direction of his destination, the young man adjusted his tie and quickly turned left.

He'd been there once several years ago, immediately after his brother had suddenly abandoned the company and disappeared to some obscure corner of the earth. Despite his generally positive mood, Raoul frowned as he remembered the confusion and tumult of those strange days. Really, the building hadn't changed much since that time, although it did seem in need of repair. Several of the lights in the corridor had gone out, and the carpet was in need of vacuuming. A musty smell hung in the air, a mixture of dust and cleaning fluids. Or maybe he only noticed now because his mind had been so occupied during his last visit.

Finally, he found room 2207. Taking another breath, he walked into a receptionist's office. Metal file cabinets lay to the sides, and a pine green leather sofa sat in the middle of the room for guests. Several clocks and calendars hung on the whitewashed walls. "Good morning," greeted an elderly secretary from a small desk behind him, causing Raoul to turn around. "Do you have an appointment with Mr. Lawrence?"

"Maybe," Raoul answered with a polite smile. "He called me yesterday. I don't know if I have an appointment, though. We're...old friends."

She nodded curtly and pushed her glasses back up on her nose. "I'll ring for him, then, if you want to take a seat."

"No need to do that!" exclaimed a deep, hospitable voice. The door to the connecting room opened, and an older man in a three-piece black suit stepped out. There was a friendly smile on his wrinkled face, although his eyes looked tired. Permanent lines of age were engraved into his brow, more than even a man in his late fifties should have had. "Come on in, my boy," he said, holding out a hand. Raoul shook it firmly and stepped into the plush office. A large mahogany desk with a flat screen computer atop it prominently sat in the middle of the room, surrounded by book-filled shelves that were likely more for decoration than anything else. "So how have you been?" Mr. Lawrence asked, taking a seat in a cushioned chair and motioning for Raoul to sit across from him.

Raoul blinked in the bright spring sunlight streaming through the picture window. "I've been great," he replied, maintaining a cheerful tone. "Work is going well. We may put up another small firm in Toledo by next year. And...Oh, did you get my invitation?"

"Yes. I did actually!" he replied. "Congratulations to you! Next month, eh? I'll try to make it. She sounds like a fine girl."

His face lit up. "Christine is completely amazing. The best thing that's ever happened to me. She's the kindest person you'll ever meet. And you should hear her sing! She's classically trained. It's amazing. Her eyes are, well... perfect. I just...you have to meet her!"

Mr. Lawrence laughed at the enamored young man, perhaps recalling a time long ago when he had first fallen in love...when things were simpler. "I'm happy for you, Raoul. Not many men are so lucky."

"Yeah. I'm meeting with her later today. We're still getting the details of the big day worked out. Catering and everything. I think I've finally got the honeymoon planned, though. Should be a surprise for her!"

Mr. Lawrence chuckled again, his voice slightly strained. "Well, that's the most important part, anyway. I'm glad you've found someone. Very good. Very good."

A silence fell over the room. The older man's smile slowly disappeared, soon replaced with a small frown. His gaze momentarily fell over to the window and out toward the bustling city.

Raoul shifted, sensing a tension in the air. "So...did you want to discuss something with me? On the phone, you sounded like there was something specific."

The older man hesitated, before clearing his throat and glancing back up again. "Oh. Well, I just wanted to make sure that everything was well with you."

He slowly nodded. "Yes. Everything's great. I..." As he saw a cloud of concern pass over Mr. Lawrence's face, Raoul finally understood. An unpleasant sensation began to well up in the pits of his stomach, but he quickly suppressed it. "Oh. I see. No. I haven't really heard anything about it for years. I don't really think about it. I try not to."

"I see." Mr. Lawrence paused and rubbed his chin. "Well, it is always good to keep an eye out. Just to be on the safe side."

Raoul looked down to the desk momentarily before bravely making the next statement. "Mr. Lawrence. Don't you think it's time for us to put it all behind us? My father...he didn't even know what was going on until it was too late. And I had nothing to do with any of it."

"I know, Raoul. I know. But your brother did. You think he's in Japan for leisure?" Mr. Lawrence shook his head in distress. "He was afraid for his life after..." He sighed. "I'm sorry. I just...I worry about these things. Your father was a good friend of mine."

Raoul nodded in agreement. "Phillip did mess up. But he was young at the time, too. He didn't know all that had happened. The only ones who did were the guys at the top. And they died years ago. Gruesomely, I might add. I want to leave it behind me. I want to start a life with Christine and just forget. It was terrible, but it's over now."

"Well, of course, _we_ want to forget! Hell! I wanted to forget years ago." Mr. Lawrence calmed down and softened his voice. Raoul could see that his wrinkled hands were visibly shaking. "Look, my boy. Maybe you are fine. Maybe you have nothing to worry about. But there are some who will never forget. Never. Hate is powerful. And it's unrelenting. I'm just telling you to keep an eye over your shoulder...for your sake and for the sake of your fiancee."

Raoul nodded, more alert now at the mention of Christine. "I will. I'd protect her from anything, but I don't think we have to worry anymore."

"I hope you're right," the man softly replied, rubbing his hazel eyes tiredly. "I really hope you are." Both were silent for several moments, lost in somber thoughts.

Raoul finally attempted to change the mood, while also preparing to make his departure. "So can I expect to see you at the wedding?"

Mr. Lawrence managed a smile. "Yes. Of course. Wouldn't miss it for the world. My wife would probably love an excuse to get dressed up."

The young man nodded and smiled. "Excellent. I can't wait to introduce you to Christine." They shook hands, reaching a silent agreement that the meeting was over. "I'll see you there." Raoul stood up, somewhat eager to get away from the gloomy atmosphere and back into the sunshine.

"Have a good day, Mr. Chagny." Mr. Lawrence silently leaned back into his chair.

"You, too." Raoul nodded and walked out of the office, shaking off the negative energy that had come from the odd meeting. His cell phone rang just as he entered the corridor. Seeing the number of the caller, his mood immediately brightened. He smiled and quickly answered. "Hi, Christine! I'm on my way right now."

**A/N:** I just want to make something clear for those who haven't read my other works. Although Raoul's family was obviously involved in something questionable, Raoul will remain a good and honorable person. No bashing. Hope you enjoyed the first chapter!


	2. Beauties and Beasts

**Note: This is just a second submission as my second chapter seems to have disappeared from an error on the site. Some of you have already read it so just ignore if you have. **

Wow, you guys. I wasn't expecting that many reviews for a first chapter. Thank you so much! I feel the need to repeat that this is a very AU story. There will many things from POTO, mostly the characters and a lot of the themes and symbols, but it's also going to have quite a few other sources. So purists may not enjoy it. Also, the beginning of this story is going to be fairly morose. Erik is a bit cranky. ;) And that's all the warning you're going to get. :) Let's get to the next chapter.

**Read and Review!**

Rays of spring sunlight filtered through the enormous front windows of the wedding boutique, glinting off the white diamonds and golden bands that lay on the fingers of most customers. Passing shoppers glanced into the store, smiling enviously as future brides tried on gowns and lacy adornments. Mannequins stood to the sides, showing off the latest fashions in a variety of graceful poses. To any young, unmarried girl, no other shop was quite as aesthetically pleasing.

An attractive blonde woman in her early twenties currently stood atop a wooden stool, attempting to smooth out the wrinkles in her white satin gown. Although her mouth was pursed in frustration, her cheeks held a certain rosy glow. Seconds later, a shorter dark-haired girl walked out of a dressing room, staring down at her own dress with a small scowl on her face.

"Christine? I think someone messed up measuring. Either that, or I've shrunk several inches in the last week."

Christine looked up from the wedding dress and suppressed a laugh as her best friend walked closer. The sky-blue bridesmaid gown swept well past her friend's feet and was currently dragging on the carpet. "I promise that we'll fix it, Meg" she said, holding back a smile. "Let me just get my dress right. Last time the zipper stuck. I also think that something's wrong with the hem." She frowned downward again, feeling a little lost in the situation. She'd never really had a mother figure to advise her on the designs of dresses and was relying solely on the expertise of the boutique.

"You'd think that going to one of the most expensive stores in the city..." Meg began before immediately clamping up as one of the employees walked into the room. The middle-aged woman wrapped a tape measurer around Christine's narrow waist and jotted some numbers down.

"And did you say you wanted the shorter veil, ma'am?" she enquired, without looking up.

"I..." Christine hesitated, picturing the big day in her mind. Somehow, a flowing white veil brought a brighter smile to her face. "I'll take the longer one."

"Yes, ma'am." The woman nodded, wrote something down, and disappeared again.

"At least they're efficient." Meg whispered, tucking a strand of dark brown hair behind her ear. "Or maybe they just know who your fiancé is."

"Meg." Christine gave her friend an annoyed glance. Her attention then went to the large, gold-rimmed mirror that sat against the wall. She tilted her head at her reflection, admiring the sequined gown and enjoying how it accented her smaller curves. For the most part, she wasn't one to go on long shopping sprees or spend hours in dressing rooms trying on clothes. This would finally be her day to shine, though, and she felt a need for perfection.

"It looks great," said Meg, coming over and standing beside her. "You look gorgeous. Perfect. And I'm very jealous." She smiled.

Christine laughed, definitely feeling more glamorous than she usually felt. "Thanks. You'll have your day soon, Meg. Any new prospects?"

"Nah. Well, right now there's Sean. It's pretty much a new guy every month, though."

"Well, feel free to bring someone to the wedding," Christine replied. "You might get bored if you don't. Plus...there's going to be an extra seat." She paused and bit her lip. "Raoul's brother isn't coming."

"Why not?" Meg asked with a yawn, playing with some of the ribbons on her dress and attempting to stop the bottom from dragging on the floor.

She shrugged. "He lives in some other country. China, maybe? Raoul doesn't see him much. We thought he'd at least come to the wedding, but he's not. It's strange..."

"What's strange?"

Christine hesitated, not really knowing the answer to the question. The whole relationship between Raoul and his older sibling was a little peculiar. She quickly brushed it aside, not wanting to ruin the day with something unpleasant and irrelevant. "I don't know. Never mind. I just wanted you to know that you could bring a guest."

Meg smiled. "All right. I'll bring next month's prospective guy."

"Sounds good!" she replied, feeling lighthearted as she stood on the stool and looked down at her surroundings.

Along with Raoul, Meg Giry was one of the few people who had made her smile in these last few troublesome years. The two girls had been fairly good friends in high school, both singing in choir and struggling to maintain decent grade point averages. Meg had always associated with a slightly more elite crowd and Christine had been somewhat more reserved, but they'd still formed a steady friendship through their classes.

Communication had all but ceased between the two friends after Christine was offered a full scholarship into Boston University's music program. Although her father had never brought in a large income, he had used a good portion of his wages paying for professional vocal instruction. When Charles Daae was younger, he had been in a band that had failed to achieve success. In the end, he had bestowed his dreams to his daughter, and she had fortunately been blessed with natural talent and a love for music. Especially after his wife had died in a head-on collision when Christine was barely four, Charles had wanted to give his child a happy and secure future. In the end, years of private voice lessons had truly paid off. Pride had filled her father's eyes on the day that she had been accepted into the university.

Somewhat eager to find her own way in the world, Christine had boarded an airplane and departed for Boston. After maintaining such close ties with her father, the new experience was rather shocking. Three months later, though, she was beginning to make friends and enjoy her stay. She had already grasped some minor parts in university concerts and was slowly building a list of recommendations that could be used if she ever attempted to enter the professional world. There had always been a thrill that came with singing, a rush of adrenaline and energy that could only be released through her voice. Rarely had she not looked forward to her singing lessons when she was younger, enjoying the feeling of exercising her vocal cords to reach higher and higher notes.

Her greatest flaw overall was her timidity, a feeling of never quite knowing if her achievements were good enough or if she was deserving of what came her way. The feeling prevented her from auditioning on several occasions, and perhaps held her back from doing her best. Others had noticed as well.

"Christine. Have you ever heard of a shy diva? How about a timorous prima donna?" One of her professors had once enquired this of her, a balding man with a nervous tic.

"I..." She had stared at him oddly from the stage. "No."

He had nodded once, having made his point. "Well, there you go."

In the end, it hadn't really mattered. All had come to an abrupt halt on the morning she received the phone call in her dorm room. It was her aunt, calling to say that her father had been diagnosed with a rare form of lung cancer. Of course, she had flown back home the next morning, telling the university that she didn't know if she would return. Everything was such a blur that she didn't remember half the things that came out of her mouth that day.

Meg had been the one to pick her up at the airport, giving her a long hug as she came through the entrance gate. Now, her brunette friend was still by her side two years later, helping her prepare for one of the happiest days of her life.

"My feet are beginning to ache," Christine muttered, balancing herself as she stepped down from the stool. "They've got to be done measuring by now."

"Hopefully." Meg glanced toward the front entrance. "When's Raoul supposed to get here?"

"I called him about thirty minutes ago," she replied with a renewed smile. "Anytime now. I just hope I have time to..." The door jingled. Seeing her fiancé walk into the story, Christine ducked behind a nearby wall and poked her head out. "Hi!" She grinned. "Give me a moment, dear. You're not supposed to see the dress yet."

He laughed and turned around. "All right! I won't look. I promise."

Meg walked by, heading back to the changing room and still trying to keep her own dress from dragging across the carpet. "You can look at me if you don't laugh."

"Hello, Meg," he said with a cheerful tone. "Looks like someone messed up. We'll get it fixed. Still got almost a month left!"

She laughed. "Thanks! I'll manage somehow."

Christine smiled to herself as she worked off the complicated dress and quickly changed into a pair of jeans, grateful that her future husband and best friend got along. Then again, Raoul was the kind of person who got along with everybody. He had a calm disposition and a big heart, rarely getting angry or saying an unkind word about anyone. Even back in elementary school, when she had first met him, he had offered his swing to her after another boy had rowdily pushed her off her own. The two blondes had played together all that year, before his family had moved away. He had mentioned once that his parents could never seem to settle down in one spot.

She remembered their reunion one year ago.

Miserably hunched over a cup of coffee in a café, Christine had been inwardly crying over the coming death of her father. She had been home from college for one year, watching as his health deteriorated day by day. He was also frequently on large doses of morphine, which caused him to be irritable and disoriented. Outside of taking care of her father, Christine had also been working dull secretarial jobs, trying to bring in enough money to pay for necessities. To top it all off, there was a class action lawsuit against the company that her dad had worked for. Apparently the manufacturing building contained carcinogenic substances, very possibly the cause of his lung cancer. She found herself being constantly bombarded by calls from lawyers and public relations agents until a settlement was finally made. Each day dragged on with no spark of joy, save for an occasional visit from Meg.

As she sat inside the coffee house on that spring day, twirling a strand of blonde hair on one finger and staring into space, someone had sat down beside her. He'd ordered a cup of coffee with a blueberry muffin, and she'd curiously glanced up to see the owner of the friendly voice. A pair of calm blue eyes had met her own.

She often felt as if she had been saved on that day.

Giving herself one last glance in the dressing room mirror, Christine folded the wedding dress over her arm and opened the door. "Ready!" she exclaimed, walking over and giving her fiancé a one-armed hug.

He embraced her, looking a little more tired than usual. "Great! Did everything go well here?"

"Yeah! Except for Meg's dress, everything was fine. Everyone was helpful. How was your meeting?"

He paused. "It was pretty short. Kind of strange, actually. But James Lawrence has always been a nervous man. Maybe he's just been working too hard."

"I don't think I've met him," she replied, gnawing at her lip. "Well, just you don't ever start working too hard."

Raoul shook his head. "Not me. I learned from my dad. Work is not on my top list of priorities." He gently kissed her temple. "You, however, are."

"Good." She smiled and leaned against his broad shoulder, feeling a little weary herself from standing up all day. "Where should we go for dinner?"

"Hmmm. How does Italian sound? Someplace relaxing."

"Perfect," she replied. "Just let me make sure that they're all done here. I also need to have them fix Meg's dress."

Still smiling, Christine dashed off through the boutique to find an employee. Around every corner seemed to be another ornate full-length mirror, which really made perfect sense. Wasn't a place so centered on beauty the perfect location for a house of mirrors? With each turn, she constantly caught a disappointing glimpse of her reflection. Now that the wedding dress was off, she looked ordinary again.

As Christine finally found someone to help her, she decided that maybe there was no harm in being ordinary.

When it came down to it, maybe everyone was.

* * *

_One week later..._

The black-clad man silently strode into the room, a gust of cold air seeming to trail behind him despite the warm, muggy night.

The three other men looked up and exchanged brief glances of curiosity, Nadir Khan being one of them. They all sat on a worn and dusty couch, leftover furniture from whoever had lived there previously. Nadir wondered what the former occupants had been like, to live in such an eerie location. In retrospect, though, the old house was more accommodating than the other temporary places that they had resided. It was certainly more comfortable than the abandoned school house. Of course, there were no other options. If they wished to remain like ghosts, they had to live as ghosts...inhabiting areas where no one else would dare go. When it was all over, their dark companion assured them they could live in luxury. When it was over, he also assured them that he would depart from their lives as nothing but a bad memory. _Was he referring to his death?_ Nadir sometimes wondered.

All three men continued to watch as the looming figure went into a separate room without a word. The fiery eyes held no emotion, neither triumph nor loss. No one dared to ask, either, for they knew that the question would be answered in good time. Suddenly, a violin echoed throughout the house, playing a hollow melody that surrounded them in a morose haze. Each note was mournful yet victorious, slowly growing toward a despairing crescendo. Tilting his head, Nadir glanced into the room and saw that the eyes behind the black mask were closed in peace. Sometimes he thought that his companion only felt tranquility when he was playing an instrument. And, Allah knew, he could play anything...from the most beautiful hymns to the most frightening chords.

The men listened for several moments. "Another one is down," finally murmured a man named Joseph Buquet in his native French tongue. A lopsided grin came across his bearded face. "Another one is gone."

Nadir swallowed and slowly nodded in agreement. The song was definitely a requiem. Taking a breath, he removed a small pad of paper and a pen from his pocket. On the front page, the word 'falcon' was written in bold capital letters. The "f" and the "a" had been crossed off. Now, Nadir slowly marked the "l" off as well. His eyes then fell over to the "c." Mr. Khan wondered if there should be two c's now, for it was unlikely that either brother would survive.

He still wasn't happy about it, especially after reading the blurb next to the picture of the smiling couple. Raoul de Chagny was set to be married to a young girl named Christine Daae. They sounded like a well-meaning couple, completely unconnected to any sins of the past. But what was he to do? Challenge the dark specter that stood nearly a foot over him? No. He would have no chance.

Nadir wrote another "c" over the first one in acknowledgment of this fact. The violin stopped playing. There was the squeak of the case opening and closing, before the imposing figure returned to the room. He nodded once at them, a glimmer of victory in his glowing eyes, before striding into the designated dining room and closing the door tightly behind him with a thin, pale hand.

Looking back over time, Nadir wondered how such a man could have been created in a span of thirty-five years. How could a living, breathing human being become nothing but a cold, dark shell?

As Nadir remembered the events that had brought him there, though, he decided that it wasn't such a surprise.

* * *

Christine was dozing atop a cushy velvet sofa, her head resting against her fiance's chest, when the phone suddenly rang. Raoul was only half awake, watching a sitcom with the volume turned down. Both glanced up in the dim room and tiredly blinked. 

"It's late," murmured Christine, glancing at a digital clock and slowly arising from the sofa. "I should be home by now. Your couch is just so comfortable." Although she currently kept legal possession of her father's home, she was spending more and more time at Raoul's larger house, often not enjoying the memories her old residence brought back. Within several weeks, it would likely be sold, and she would permanently move in with her husband.

"Feel free to stay the night," he offered, reaching out for the phone with a yawn. "Hello?"Christine stretched, before watching curiously as Raoul frowned and turned in the opposite direction. "What?" he questioned in disbelief. "You're serious? I just..." A long paused followed. "My God. Yeah. All right." His eyes were narrowing in deep concern, and the color in his face had drained slightly. "Yeah. I'll check in tomorrow. Uh-huh. Thanks."

He silently hung up the receiver and just stood there for several moments with his arms limply at his sides.

"What's wrong?" Christine asked, gently placing a hand on his shoulder. "What happened?"

Raoul was silent for a couple of moments. "Mr. Lawrence...he's dead. They think suicide."

She quietly gasped. "That's awful! Why would he do that?"

Raoul ran a hand through his hair and shook his head. "I honestly don't know. I mean, he acted kind of upset when I talked to him last week. But he didn't seem like he would...He hung himself. Laura-his wife-found him in their backyard."

Christine's eyes widened in shock. "I'm so sorry, Raoul. I know he was a good friend of yours. That's terrible!"

"Yeah," he quietly replied, accepting her comforting embrace. "Maybe it all just got to be too much for him. I still can't believe he would end his life like that, though. Leave his wife. " Raoul paused. "I may need to go...settle some things for him. Laura is probably in hysterics, and my dad shared some accounts with him. It should only take a day or two."

She slowly nodded. "Of course. I understand."

"Yeah. I want to get it all cleared up before our wedding. Get it behind us. We shouldn't...even have to think about this right now." He sighed unhappily.

Christine gently smiled, not wanting him to feel guilty at a time like this. "It's fine. Go do what you have to do. I'll find a way to keep myself busy."

"I promise I'll get it taken care of as fast as I can."

"It's fine, love."

They held each other for several more moments, both disturbingly ignorant of the slow, somber melody that resumed playing late into the night.


	3. The Paths We Follow

Thanks for the reviews guys! I know it probably wasn't your favorite thing to read, but I've got to develop the story a little. Things will begin progressing quickly soon. Unlike my previous story, I'll also try to occasionally give Erik's POV. And yes, he is a bit evil right now. But...well, I'm not going to give anything away. Lol. Hope you enjoy!

**Read and review!**

A light patter of spring rain sounded upon the shingled roof, contrasting with the previous day's sunny weather. Several fluorescent lights illuminated the spacious kitchen of Raoul's house, casting the couple in a soft glow as they quietly ate dinner. A low rumble of thunder sounded outside, too distant to be menacing.

It was the afternoon following the disturbing phone call. Throughout the day, Raoul had made plans to attend to Mr. Lawrence's scattered affairs while also keeping up with his own work. Christine had stayed nearby, offering to help wherever she could. When not needed to look up phone numbers or sort through papers, she had spent much of the day flipping through bridal magazines. Several times she had considered going home, wondering if she was in his way, but then decided that it was probably better not to leave her fiancé after he had received such news. As neither had felt like going out to dinner or cooking, she had finally made herself useful and picked up several cartons of Chinese food for supper.

"You're leaving at what time?" Christine softly asked, setting her fork down with a clink and breaking the silence. The atmosphere had been fairly quiet all that day, and she felt the need for conversation.

He looked up from his plate of fried rice. "Probably around seven in the morning. The sooner I can get this over with, the happier I'll be. You can still stay the night, if you want. I'll try not to wake you if I'm up early."

Christine shook her head. "No. I'll go home this evening. I need to get some things done tomorrow, anyway. There's so much to go through before the house can be sold."

Raoul nodded. "Sure. I should be back sometime tomorrow evening. I'll give you a call when I get home...if it's not too late."

She smiled. "All right, then. I'll be waiting."

A frown came over her fiance's face. "I'm still trying to figure out where exactly I'm going. This guy called this morning and gave me directions. I tried to map it out on the Internet...but it's not a place I'd expect to go. Farther from the city than I thought."

"What exactly are you doing? Is there any way I can help?"

"I'm just...meeting with some people to sort out some financials." He laughed tiredly and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "You know what? I don't exactly know what I'm doing. But hopefully it will all get done in one day." He took her hand from across the table, his fingers brushing the sparkling engagement ring. "This has put a cloud over everything, hasn't it? I invited the guy to my wedding, for God's sake. I still can't believe he would do that."

She squeezed his warm hand. "I don't know, Raoul. Maybe he had problems that we don't know about. Just take all the time you need. We still have a while before the wedding."

He tiredly smiled at her, his eyes brightening slightly. "Hey! With all this going on, I forgot to tell you."

"Tell me what?"

"About our honeymoon."

Her eyes widened in delight as he smiled mischievously. "Oh! Now you have to tell me! Where are we going?"

"Hmmm. Maybe I should keep it a surprise."

She laughed, glad that the mood had somewhat lightened. Frankly, the day had been depressing. "No! Tell me now. Please. Before you leave tomorrow."

"Well..." He paused, playfully tormenting her for a few more seconds. "I've heard that Fiji is nice this time of year."

"Fiji!" She grinned and squeezed his hand tighter. "Oh my gosh! How did you know I wanted to go there? My aunt and uncle went there last summer and loved it."

"I saw you flipping through a brochure with a big smile on your face. That was the first clue."

She laughed again and hopped up from her chair, before walking around the circular table and embracing him. Another rumble of thunder echoed throughout the damp air, closer this time, but neither noticed. "I can't wait! Thank you so much!"

Raoul laughed and hugged her. "Glad you like it! I think we'll both enjoy a vacation after this is all over."

She smiled distantly against his shoulder. "It has been a long year, hasn't it? Sometimes the last two years seem like a giant blur. So much happened..."

"It did," he replied, his voice tired again. "But everything will sort itself out soon."

"Yeah." She realized that her mind was on the past, while his was on the present. Christine slowly returned to her chair and sat back down, before picking up her fork and resuming eating. The food was a little saltier than she usually preferred. Silence returned to the table as they each fell into their own separate thoughts.

After the storm had passed into the distance, Christine gave him a long kiss goodbye and climbed into her small Toyota. The temperature felt colder, and she turned off the air conditioning. A hollow feeling sat in the pit of her stomach as she backed out of the driveway and drove down the puddle-lined streets. Whether the sensation was nostalgic or foreboding, she did not know.

* * *

_Dear Ms. Daae,_

_Congratulations! Out of thousands of applicants, you have been accepted to ..._

Christine stared down at the printed letter for several moments, recalling the day that she had first received the bulky envelope with the acceptance inside. The paper had been buried under a large pile of manila folders on her father's old desk, likely where he had last set it down. Wrinkles and creases were lined throughout the letter, signifying just how many times it had been opened and read.

She had spent the morning cleaning out the house of all unnecessary items and was currently focused on her father's large mess of papers. Insurance forms, tax filings, and other documents had all been either stacked into neat piles or tossed into a plastic sack. At the bottom of everything, she had uncovered the letter, along with an unwelcome onrush of memories. It was strange how everything could change within such a short time. Two years ago, she had been well on her way to a singing career. One year ago, she had been near a state of clinical depression. And now, she was about to be married to a wonderful man. Christine smiled to herself, remembering a time when she had vowed to stay single until she was at least thirty.

After meeting at the café on that fateful morning, she and Raoul had immediately begun seeing each other. Of course, they had years to catch up on and a great deal to talk about. Christine discovered that he had moved around a lot as a child, before finally attending private school for the rest of his education. He had gotten a bachelor's in finance at NYU and was considering going back later for an MBA. Meanwhile, his brother had strangely abandoned the family company, which he had inherited after their father's death. Outside of the fact that Raoul had returned to Chicago and managed to take control of the enterprise, Christine knew little more of the affair. She assumed it was just business and left the matter alone. Her fiancé seemed hesitant to speak of it.

She had her own problems to worry about, anyway, as her father's health continued to deteriorate. He finally got to a point where Christine could no longer take care of him, sometimes not even able to recognize her because of the drug effects. Raoul had been there for her the entire time, helping her with hospital visits and confusing paperwork. Although she had attempted not to lean on him too often, there were some days when she had just wanted to stay in bed. Finally, the devastating event came. Raoul had been her shoulder to cry on, holding her as her father's coffin was lowered into the ground eight months ago. Christine wasn't lying when she had stated that the last two years had been a blur. Between the tears and exhaustion, it was hard to remember anything.

One day clearly stuck out in her mind, though. Three months ago, at a quaint Italian restaurant called the Apollo Café, Raoul had taken her hand and proposed to her with an enormous diamond ring. She remembered blinking in complete surprise, before quickly accepting it and kissing him across the table. Since then, her life had revolved around preparing for the wedding...the first piece of happiness she had experienced in some time.

In truth, she probably could have begged Boston University to give her the scholarship back. They had been extremely dismayed by her leave. By that time, though, Christine was drained of all motivation. She was too exhausted to audition or to enter the brutal world of entertainment. A large chunk of her soul had been taken out by the death of her father. She wanted to be wrapped in a warm and comforting embrace. She wanted stability. Maybe it was the easier road, to forsake her natural talent and settle down. But who cared? It was her life, and she wanted to feel safe again.

Did she ever wonder what might have been had her father not fallen ill? Did she ever wonder if she would have ended up on a stage, singing her heart out for the world to hear? Of course. But her path had changed now, and she accepted this fact. Sometimes fate simply intervenes.

_Sometimes our paths are decided for us. _

She tossed the acceptance letter to the side and continued on to the next stack of papers. As she read over them, her blue eyes suddenly narrowed into a glare that seemed foreign on her soft features. They were the forms from the lawsuit at her father's company, most of them now useless and disposable. She quietly cursed.

Normally, Christine didn't lower herself to using vulgarities, but there was really no decent term to describe some of these people. The company had known that asbestos were in the walls of the building for years, managing to even fool city inspectors. Then, they had gotten out of paying a large litigation sum over a legal technicality. If it hadn't been for Raoul's knowledge of business law, she wouldn't have seen a dime. She had been too distraught and saddened to be angry at the time, but the affair left a bitter taste in her mouth whenever she thought of it.

She quickly crumpled the papers into a tight ball and threw them away.

By early that evening, after going through a box of old photographs, she began to feel melancholy. Raoul hadn't called yet, but it was still fairly early. With a sigh, she picked up the phone and dialed Meg, needing to hear a familiar voice.

"Hey!" her friend answered, obviously seeing it was her on the caller id. "Good timing. I just got back from aerobics."

"Hi!" she answered, immediately feeling better. "Just calling to chat. Raoul's gone, and I've been here all day alone...cleaning things out."

"I see!" she replied in a teasing tone. "You only call when he's not around."

"No." Christine softly laughed. "I've been too busy to talk to anyone lately. I'm sorry."

"I know! I was just kidding." Meg paused. "Are you okay? You sound a little down tonight."

"No. I'm fine. Just tired, I guess."

"Oh. I see."

A short silence passed. "Hey, Meg? Where do you see me in...say five years?"

"What?"

Christine laughed, feeling a little silly now. Meg probably had better things to do. "What do you see me doing in five years? When things are normal again."

"Oh." Meg paused. "Well...I don't know. What do you want to do?"

"Meg," she replied in frustration. "I'm just asking you what you think. Just for fun."

"Fine." Her friend paused again. Christine could now hear a radio playing in the background. "I see lots of little Raouls and Christines running around."

"What? Are you serious?" She shifted on the worn sofa, laying her head against the headrest and staring up at the cracked ceiling.

"Well, yeah. Isn't that what...usually happens?" Meg sighed. "I don't know. You asked me. I just answered. I see kids."

"Okay," she quietly replied. "Thanks."

"Is something else wrong? Why did you ask that?"

"No. Nothing's wrong. I was just thinking over things these last few years. Everything happened so fast, you know?"

"Yeah. You've definitely been through a lot. But things are better now, Christine." Meg laughed. "Like I said earlier, I'm very envious of you. I mean...Raoul is perfect."

"Yeah!" Christine answered, sitting up with a yawn. "I know. Things are a lot better. Sorry to be so depressing. Yesterday was just a weird day. Raoul's friend...passed away, and I don't know. It just kind of put a damper on things. And then I was cleaning out the apartment...remembering things..."

"Do you want me to come over? I can. I'm not busy."

"No. That's okay." She slowly got up from the couch and ran a hand through her tangled hair. "I'll probably be going to bed. If Raoul doesn't call soon..."

"All right. If you're sure."

"Yeah. I'm fine." Another silence passed, and Christine realized that the conversation was bordering on awkward. "Hey! I'll give you another call soon. Maybe we can get together and do something this week."

"Yeah! That sounds good." Meg now sounded slightly eager to get off.

"Talk to you later, then."

"Sure! Night!"

"Night."

Christine hung up the receiver and momentarily stood there in the silence. She then proceeded to brush her teeth and get ready for bed, all the while listening for the telephone. After putting on a robe, she went into the living room and watched television with the lights turned down. Two hours ticked by, and the phone did not ring.

Maybe he'd gotten held up somewhere with no cell phone service. Or maybe he thought it was too late to call.

She gnawed at her lip, before slowly clicking off the television and climbing into bed. After snuggling beneath the covers, Christine fell into a shallow and troublesome sleep, still continuing to subconsciously listen for the phone.

* * *

_Earlier..._

Raoul had been driving for several hours by the time it reached noon of that day, and he could feel his back begin to ache from sitting up straight for so long. With a sigh, he switched radio stations and continued forward through the rows of green trees and empty fields. The sun shown from its highest point in the sky, and the day was especially muggy. It still puzzled him that he wasn't going to the city...or at least an office building. A friend of Mr. Lawrence simply called and said that he wanted to have a private meeting, and Raoul had obliged. Sometimes formal settings weren't necessary between friends.

A feeling of uncertainty ate at him throughout the drive. The sudden death of Mr. Lawrence had been somewhat shocking, especially after their last conversation. But maybe it made sense. Maybe Mr. Lawrence had wanted to see his old friends before he ended it all. He had seemed nervous and depressed at their meeting. Maybe he was making his peace with those who were close to him.

Raoul sighed. This would be another empty seat at their wedding, right along with that of his older brother. He really didn't know if he would forgive Phillip for this one. There were a lot of things that he didn't know if he would ever forgive his brother for. What kind of person just up and leaves the country without a word, shedding all responsibility for his actions? Raoul had never understood that.

As the trees became slightly thicker, an unnerving feeling began to overtake him...a slow realization. Mr. Lawrence. His brother. What if it were all connected? Or was that just a weird conspiracy theory? He brushed the thought aside. Looking up, he saw an old house pass by, likely one that was built back in the fifties or sixties. A faded address was painted onto the mailbox, very numerically close to the one that he was heading for. Raoul squinted in confusion. That didn't make any sense. He was practically in the middle of nowhere.

The car continued forward, bouncing over the rifts and cracks in the beaten road. He looked left and right, trying to find something that resembled...whatever he was looking for. There was a break in the trees, and he could suddenly see the outlines of a manmade structure up ahead. This calmed his nerves somewhat. Maybe he was getting closer to a town.

As the structures came into full view, Raoul felt his heart suddenly freeze. His eyes widened. _What in God's name...? _There had to be a mistake. This couldn't be right! Raoul braked and turned off the engine, before reaching down and pulling out a map. He frantically tried to figure out just where he had made a wrong turn. As the sun crept through the trees and heated the automobile, he felt a need to get out and get some fresh air. Maybe that would help to clear his mind before he turned back around. Whatever had happened, _this_ wasn't the right place. He opened the door, hearing birds twirp from the branches above. A light breeze swept through the air, rustling the leaves.

Turning away to avoid the slightly eerie sight in front of him, Raoul's eyes again widened in surprise. A wrinkled man with a thick beard and a stoic middle-aged man with darkly-toned skin were slowly approaching him over a dirt road. The former wore old jeans and a long-sleeved plaid shirt. The latter was neatly kept in grey dress pants and a white-collared shirt. "Can I...help you?" he asked, uneasily observing the strange expressions on their faces. "I didn't even know anyone was out here."

The bearded man just smiled, his teeth marked with an unpleasant yellow tint. The other man continued his approach and spoke in an even tone. "You can help, Mr. de Chagny. Unfortunately, you can."

Raoul was about to respond to the odd comment, when he sensed another presence behind him. He quickly turned around but saw nothing except for empty space.

"It is best not to struggle," the darker man stated quietly.

"What?" asked Raoul, facing him again. "I don't understand. I..."

As a shadow swiftly passed over him, completely blocking the daylight, he knew for certain that at least three other living beings accompanied him in that strange location. Two were human.

The other...he was not sure.


	4. Collateral

Hi guys! Thank you so much for all the reviews and support. There's not too much to say about this chapter. Erik is not nice, okay...he's kind of evil, but it is fun to write him before he ever meets Christine. Of course, I doubt I can keep them apart for too much longer ;) Enjoy!

**Read and Review!**

The sun shone directly on them from its high place in the sky, as though spotlighting the ambush that was currently taking place. Nadir had seen many unpleasantries in his time on earth, ones that would make most people's stomachs clench. What was occurring in front of him paled in comparison to some of the terrors he had witnessed. Still, he couldn't help but turn his gaze to the side slightly, if for no other reason than to avoid seeing the tortured expression on Mr. de Chagny's face.

The young man had no more time to speak or even think. Before he could turn around and confront the shadow, a cord of catgut was tightly wrapped around his neck. His blue eyes widened in shock, and he let out a choked cry of pain and surprise. With his hands, he clawed desperately at his neck, failing miserably to get his fingers beneath the deadly noose. He then made a swinging motion with his right arm, trying to smack away whomever was choking off his oxygen. The dark figure stood there unwaveringly within the shadows of the trees, quickly going about the task with an eerie perfection.

"How long will this go on?" muttered Joseph Buquet. "Boy has a little fight in him!"

Nadir rubbed his stubbled chin and cast a quick glance back to the struggle. "Not for very long," he replied in French, as he noticed the boy's shoulders begin to go limp. His eyelids began to droop, and his skin turned a bluish-grey, signifying that unconsciousness was near. Little energy was left in the young man, for no one can go very long without breath.

In Nadir's opinion, there were more pleasant ways to complete the task. Weren't there drugs to efficiently put people to sleep? His masked companion claimed, however, that he only wanted a brief period of unconsciousness with no aftereffects, and that drugs wouldn't do. It was Nadir's belief that the shadowed man simply took pleasure in using the lasso for the job...the close, personal feel of it. Still, he didn't challenge the decision.

Finally, Mr. de Chagny's body went limp. He gave a soft groan of resignation, as his arms fell loosely to his sides and his head tilted against his shoulder. With perfect timing, the coil loosened, allowing the boy to fall to a heap upon the damp ground. Two golden eyes stared down with bored satisfaction. "Take him quickly," stated the dark figure, nodding once toward the fallen body. He then turned and seemed to mesh within the shadows of the trees, disappearing in front of their eyes in an almost supernatural fashion.

Without another word, Nadir grabbed one limp arm and Buquet grabbed the other. They dragged him forward along the dirt path, stirring dust up into the humid air as they moved along. He took a glance at the recently abandoned cemetery that was sprawled out beside them, likely the cause of the boy's shock. Only a few fresh flower arrangements signified that anyone had been there recently. He estimated that about one family a week still visited the site. Usually they just laid flowers atop the grave, stared respectfully downward for a minute or two, and then left. No one ever knew what lay just beyond. Within a few decades, after another generation had passed on, no one would likely remember that the place existed.

They continued on through the trees, their heels crunching over stray twigs and leaves. Nadir winced as he felt his shoulder cramp slightly from the weight of the boy. He wearily glanced down, noticing that the young man's eyelids were beginning to twitch. He would be awakening soon.

"Almost there," murmured Buquet with disdain, attempting to walk faster. "_He_ should have carried the lad. But he has some problem with touching other members of the human race." A sneer crossed his chapped lips. "I guess it's because he's not one of them. Doesn't look like it, anyway."

Nadir just grunted in reply, now wanting to get involved with that particular power struggle. A feeling of relief surged through his aching body as their current residence finally came into view. The two-story brick home loomed upwards, shaded within trees. The roof was weather worn, some of the shingles missing or hanging off. Dust covered the windows of the five upper bedrooms, and the paint on the black door and sidings was severely chipped. Weeds were scattered around the edges, and the house was slowly being encased in vegetation.

He could only assume that someone prominent had once lived here, perhaps wanting to escape the growing population of the city and suburbs. Either that, or the mortician had been a wealthy man. How his masked companion had found the isolated location, Nadir would never know. But it was truly ideal.

Mr. de Chagny let out a slight groan of protest as he began to stir, causing both men to tighten their grip as they brought him up the walkway. The door released a creak as they opened it and stepped into the cooler air. Within the entryway, the masked man waited with his arms folded, one foot tapping upon the wooden floor in a meaningful rhythm. "You certainly took your time," he stated with vague irritation. He tossed a short piece of rope at their feet. "Bind his hands and leave him here. I wish to introduce myself properly." Nadir could hear the taint of sarcasm in the statement but did as he was instructed, firmly tying the wrists together behind the boy's back. He was careful to not bring too much discomfort. Any mercy that the young man could get would be warranted.

The boy slowly steadied himself onto his knees and looked around the darkened room in confusion. His gaze first went to Nadir and Buquet, and his eyes narrowed in anger. It looked like he was about to say something, when he suddenly noticed the masked figure that was looming directly in front of him. The young man's mouth fell agape, and his face paled. _A common reaction for most people _Nadir mused.

"Good afternoon, Mr. de Chagny." Nadir saw a shudder run through the young man as the eerie timbre of the tenor voice touched his ears. He was still too stunned to speak, shifting uncomfortably on the hardwood floor. "Welcome to my recently acquired home. Do you like it? Or perhaps it is not elegant enough for your fine tastes?" The masked man tilted his head, eyes gleaming with amusement.

Finally, Mr. de Chagny got his lips to move. "Who...who are you?" he asked, his mouth obviously parched from being strangled. "What do you want?"

"Why I am your host, boy! Do you not have appreciation for the trouble I have gone to in order to bring you here?" He chuckled.

Nadir disdainfully shook his head at the mind games, wondering how long this would go on.

The young man attempted to get out of his binds. He froze as the black-clad man stepped toward him, drawing back with an expression of horror. "What the hell do you want?" he shrilly asked, perhaps realizing that his survival of the situation was dimming. "Who are you?"

"Yes, unlike the others, you have absolutely no idea why you are here, do you? Frankly, it does not really matter who I am. I can only guarantee that mine will be the last face you see. And for those last remaining seconds of your life, you will not forget it. No one ever does. At least, I can only assume so." Another chortle.

"I don't understand," he pleaded, anger replaced with fear. "I didn't do anything. I swear!"

"Indeed," the apparition agreed with mock sympathy. "You are more or less collateral. But that is not my problem, is it? No. And I am sure some of your family's pure blue blood exists in those veins. Did you know you were descended from nobility, de Chagny? Oh...I am sure you did! I am sure your parents did not let you forget it."

"Please. Let me go. For the love of God, I swear that I..."

"You swear what?" he harshly interrupted. He then began to play with his voice, throwing it from different directions in an expert display of ventriloquism. "That you will tell no one?" The voice came from the left. " That you have done nothing?" Now from the right. " It really does not matter. I daresay that these walls will be the last place you ever set foot. Mr. de Chagny, you will live only long enough for me to access your brother." Now it was behind him, speaking directly into his ear in almost a whisper. "And you can spend your short time pondering why you might be here! Hours and hours of nothing but solitude. And it is not such a terrible thing once one becomes used to it. If one can keep from going mad, solitude can be delightful!"

Nadir feared the boy would go mad soon.

"What do you want?" the young man desperately asked, trying futilely to discern the direction of the voice. "Money? What?"

The shadow chuckled. "From you, little. At the most, I will need information. You will give it to me, lest you wish to know the meaning of physical pain. At the very least, I want nothing. Your only use is your presence here. Isn't that a pity? Your entire purpose in life starts and ends right here. From your brother...from the rest...I wish them to suffer. That is what I wish for, Mr. de Chagny. I am a man of simple desires, no?" He turned. "Take him out of my presence now. If he whines all evening, I fear I will kill him before I am done with him. And that simply will not do. Not at all."

Joseph Buquet and the fourth person in their party, a quieter man named Darius, grabbed him by the arms and began to lead him upstairs. The young man started to struggle, but a deadly glare from the golden eyes made him keep still. He seemed to sense the aura of death...to know that escape was currently hopeless. And so he resigned himself to his fate, slumping up the stairs to whatever was in store for him. Still, he did not cry or wail as some men did as their doom approached. Mr. de Chagny silently went upwards.

Nadir remained in the sitting room, waiting for instructions. He kept his silent gaze toward the cracked floorboards. His companion looked upon him, an unreadable expression in his yellow eyes. The sadistic gleam of earlier had faded.

"You think me cruel?" the masked figure questioned. "I see it in your eyes."

Nadir hesitated. Continuing to look away, he spoke with a semblance of honesty. Occasionally, he could get away with being direct. He was probably the only one who could do so with this dark man. "Everyone is cruel. Life has been cruel. But I sometimes wonder if we...go too far. Maybe it could all end soon."

His companion replied with something between a scoff and a laugh. "I suppose that is why I lead," he slowly began, looking out the window. "A monster has no conscience...it does not let emotion stand in the way. Oh, I am cruel, Nadir. But how else would you have me be? What else can I be? How else would I have taken you so far, if I had the wretched burden of humanity left in me? You would be dead, if not for the fact that I am a monster. Do you deny this?"

Nadir closed his eyes. There was no way to answer this kindly. "No."

He curtly nodded and turned away, showing no anger at the acknowledgment that he was something subhuman. "You know what your next task is. I suggest leaving late tomorrow, after his disappearance is faintly noticed. The boy has few close contacts, despite his popularity within the community. I doubt you will have few problems erasing evidence of his whereabouts. As for the letter, instructions are clear on its delivery."

"Very well." Nadir paused. "You plan...to kill the young man after you have accessed his brother?"

"I doubt it could be any other way. For the time being, he may be of slight use. And...it is a most unwise strategy to kill your hostage before you get your ransom, Nadir. But afterwards, yes. Does this concern your tortured conscience, my friend?"

Nadir clenched his fists, tired of being mocked for his weakness. "No," he answered with forced resolved. "If it must be done, then it must be done."

"Good." The masked man left the room without another word, shutting himself up in the dining room again. Nadir heard the scratch of a pen, and assumed he was working on either the letter or that infernal composition. Knowing that work lay ahead of him in the morning, he collapsed onto the old velvet sofa, sending a plume of dust into the air. Buquet and Darius soon returned downstairs, giving no sign of any problems that had occurred above. They stared at each other with mute indifference, before someone finally suggested a game of cards.

* * *

The second hand slowly journeyed around the face of the silver-rimmed wall clock that hung in the living room. Still wearing pajamas and a robe, Christine watched as the hour hand then landed precisely on eleven. Eleven in the morning. It was almost the afternoon and still no phone call. 

She started to reach out for the receiver of the telephone but paused in midair. If he had arrived home late last night, he might still be asleep. Right? She nibbled on her thumb nail, feeling an unpleasant churning inside of her stomach. With a sigh, Christine sat upon the sofa and folded her legs beneath her. There was no use going crazy over not being called yet. Is this the kind of wife and mother she was going to be? Constantly panicking whenever someone came home late or didn't phone?

It was just that Raoul usually _did_ call. He was responsible about things like that, remembering important dates and anniversaries. Still, she would give him some more time.

The silence in the house was bothersome. She hummed part of the score from _Carmen_ and picked up a clothing magazine, attempting to get her mind off her worries. A car alarm outside momentarily startled her, before just becoming an annoyance. Even the ticking of the clock began to grate at her nerves after a while, perhaps because she knew that time was continuing to pass with no call. When the phone rang thirty minutes later, she almost knocked over an antique vase to grab it. "Hello," she eagerly answered, steadying the swaying urn with her free hand.

"Hey!" said a cheerful Meg. "You sound better this morning."

"Oh. Hi." Her voice flattened significantly.

"Gee. Thanks. Glad you're happy to hear from me."

"No," Christine replied, settling down into the couch cushions with a sigh."It's not that. I just...Raoul still hasn't called me. He was supposed to get back last night. I was just expecting him."

"Maybe he's still asleep," offered Meg. "I'm sure he's fine."

"Yeah," she agreed. "You're probably right."

"Anyway," continued an unconcerned Meg. "There's an awesome sale going on at the strip mall. Some of the jewelry is even half-off. I was wondering if you'd want to take a trip down there this afternoon...find some stuff for your wedding."

"Yeah!" she replied, attempting to brighten her voice. "That sounds like fun!"

"All right! It's the one we usually go to...with the Japanese restaurant next to it. I'll be down there around one. Is that okay?"

"Sure. That's fine. I have to get ready anyway."

"Sounds good! See you there!"

"See ya."

After Meg had hung up, Christine looked down toward the keypad on the receiver. Biting her lip, she hesitated before dialing Raoul's house. He never slept this late. The phone rang six times before the answering machine responded. With a frustrated sigh, she replaced the receiver into its holder and then picked it up again. Now, she dialed his cell phone. His voice mail immediately answered, meaning that there was either no service or the phone had been turned off. A rush of panic ran through her.

"Okay. Calm down," she muttered to herself. "Everything's fine. Stop being paranoid."

With a sigh, she hung up the phone and decided to try again later. After glancing at her disheveled appearance in the bathroom mirror, she went into her bedroom to get dressed. A frown came over her face as she noticed the childish appearance her room still had, old stuffed animals sitting on the shelves. Little porcelain angels, with numbers on them representing each birthday, sat on her dresser in various poses. Would she keep everything when she moved in with Raoul? The past was oddly difficult to part with.

She pulled her blonde hair into a high ponytail and put on a pair of khaki capris pants. After slipping on a tighter fitting blue shirt, she added some blush and diamond stud earrings. Then, she resumed her seat on the sofa. The next hour was spent watching daytime television, still waiting for the sound of the telephone. Right before she left for the mall, she tried Raoul's cell again. Still nothing. This time, she left a message in his voice box.

"Hi. It's Christine. Sorry to bother you. I just...was wondering where you were. Call me if you can. Thanks."

She hung up, hoping she didn't sound too panicky in the message. Shifting her heavy leather purse onto her shoulder, she locked the door and departed into the warmer air, forever ignoring the pile of rocks that had gathered in the pit of her stomach.

The afternoon was spent running from store to store, grabbing items off shelves; trying them on; and avoiding running into other customers. Meg was already carrying four bags of clothes and two boxes of shoes after two hours had passed, claiming she needed a new summer wardrobe. Christine had only grabbed a new pair of jeans, but a row of dresses in one of the more expensive stores had caught her attention. "Ooh. Very nice," Meg commented, watching as Christine modeled a v-necked lavender gown in a mirror.

Christine blushed a little. "Yeah. Just trying on dresses for fun. I used to wear things like this for vocal performances."

"Why don't you buy one? They're not that much. I'm sure you could wear it out to dinner or something. Or to a party."

"I don't know. I don't really need it."

Meg clicked her tongue as Christine hung the dress back up on the rack several minutes later. "Poor, practical Christine."

She just rolled her eyes and walked on ahead. The jewelry store beckoned them over next, and they perused the glass cases of rubies, diamonds, amethysts, and every other precious stone known to mankind. "You should make Raoul bring you here," Meg said, staring googly-eyed at an oversized emerald ring.

"Mmhmm," murmured Christine. Her eyes were on something peculiar at the moment.

"What are you looking at?" asked Meg, glancing over. Her face twisted into a frown. "Eww. Who would ever buy that? I don't care how much it's worth." It was a large, golden scorpion pennant. Its twisted back was engraved with tiny diamonds, and its eyes were made of rubies. The claws were drawn and ready to strike, each one with another ruby placed into the pincher. The necklace cost over a thousand dollars.

Christine weakly laughed and drew her eyes away. "Strange."

It was when they sat down to eat at a deli that Christine could no longer ignore the nagging feeling. Although she'd somewhat enjoyed herself that day, a cloud had hung over her mind. She felt a need to leave and ensure that everything really was okay. Paranoia? Possibly. But she was beginning to feel physically ill over the entire thing. It was a terrible sixth sense.

"Hey, Meg." She bit her lip and set the plastic fork down. An uneaten cup of potato salad sat in front of her. "I think I'm going to head home."

Meg frowned but nodded. "All right. Everything okay? You've acted strange most of the day."

She hesitated. "I just...Raoul should be home by now. I have this funny feeling."

"Well...maybe he's just held up. But feel free to leave when you want. No one's holding you here against your will."

Christine laughed and stood up, slinging her purse over her shoulder. "Thanks. I'll give you a call later and let you know how everything is. I'm sure it's fine, though. We'll do this again when I'm in a better mood."

"Sounds good!" She waved.

Christine waved back, before heading out the glass doors and into the parking lot. The asphalt sparkled in the sunlight, and the temperature was just too warm to be comfortable. Unlocking the door of her car, she climbed in and sat her single shopping bag in the passenger seat. After a second, she opened her glove box and pulled out the cell phone that she saved for emergencies only. Dialing the number of her fiance's house, she again waited through the series of rings. Not to her surprise, there was no answer. Turning off the phone, she placed it back into the compartment and then removed a silver key. It was one that Raoul recently had made for her, in case she ever needed to get in when he wasn't there. Not to mention that the home would soon belong to both of them.

She turned on her engine and pulled out of the lot. Instead of going straight to her own home, she turned right and headed toward the wealthier side of town.

It was the only place where she had a chance at finding an answer.


	5. The Chase

Thank you all for the reviews! I hope everyone enjoys this chapter, as I had fun writing it. I think you'll like the general direction. :) There may be some unanswered question at the end, but much will likely be explained in the next chapter.

**Read and Review!**

Stepping out of her car and onto the pavement, Christine stared up at the elaborate two-story brick home for several moments. White plantation shudders decked each window. A covered balcony stuck out from the side, complete with several deck chairs from which she occasionally watched the sunset. Two brick pillars supported the front of the home, forming an archway over the entrance. The yard was professionally landscaped with a variety of green trees and blooming shrubs, and the walkway was made of flat brown stones embedded into the earth.

_Her home. _That's what the house would soon be. She would be Mrs. de Chagny of 1038 Castle Drive. Christine fingered the silver key in her hand and slowly made her way up the walk, squinting in the late afternoon sunlight. One of Raoul's next-door neighbors stepped out of a red Porsche and gave her a curious glance over, a middle-aged man in a blue suit and tie. She uncomfortably nodded back, vaguely remembering her fiancé telling her that he was a high-powered Chicago lawyer. It was her hope that neighbors didn't associate too often in this community, as she had no idea what she would say to them.

Arriving at the door, Christine slid the silver key into the lock and twisted it, immediately hearing the click of the deadbolt. She hesitantly opened the door, feeling a refreshing gust of cooler air from inside. Everything looked the same as it had the last time she'd been there. A house cleaner would come the day after tomorrow to straighten things up, but everything was already neat at the moment. The cream-colored carpet was vacuumed, and no dust covered the mahogany coffee table. The artistic vases and statues that sat on the shelves of the front room were polished. It was...the perfect picture of wealthy suburbia. Her future home.

"Hello?" she asked into the silence, making for certain that he was not there. No answer came, save for the slight echo of her voice off the higher ceilings. With a sigh, she immediately began to look around for some clues to his whereabouts. Maybe he had left a note or phone number somewhere. She looked over all the tables in the living room and then checked the notepad by the telephone. Heading into the kitchen, she checked to see if anything had been posted on the refrigerator. Last, Christine went over to the answering machine and caller id. The former was devoid of messages, and the latter only contained her phone number. There was nothing.

As the feeling of worry intensified, Christine took a glass out of the cupboard and filled it with water. She settled down into a cushioned armchair, attempting to clear her head and calm down. She took a drink, allowing the cool liquid to calm her nerves. The house creaked on its foundation, adding an eeriness to the quiet atmosphere.

Was there someone else she could call? Someone at his work? A relative? He tended not to say much about his career. Outside of a couple of office parties, she had seen little of his job or associates. She searched her memories. Wasn't there a guy named Ben that he was friends with? She didn't know the man's last name, though.

Christine blankly stared down into her glass, watching the water ripple and glint off the remaining light. There was always the police. But was it too early to call them? What would she say? My fiancé went somewhere and disappeared?

Raoul had even been confused about where he was going. He'd been trying to map it out on the...Christine's eyes suddenly widened. He'd been mapping it out on the Internet! Maybe her fiancé had saved it onto his computer. It was a long shot, but it was certainly worth a try.

Setting down the glass of water, she quickly padded into Raoul's office. The smell of aged book covers and cedar contrasted with all the modern technology inside. A computer, printer, and scanner all sat in the center, plugged in and ready for use. Christine sat down in the leather office chair and turned on the computer. The screen quickly came up, and she typed in the password 'safety-pin.' Supposedly, the word was some long running joke within his father's company.

She logged onto the Internet and began searching his favorites' folder, along with the history of the sites that had been recently visited. Finding a mapping site in the latter, she eagerly clicked it. Her mouth turned downward in a frown as the page asked her to enter the address of the desired location to be mapped. Although the website had been saved, his map hadn't. Christine rubbed her forehead in frustration, before wearily searching through some other files and finding nothing. She heard another creak from above and wondered if there was something wrong with the home. Did new houses make this much noise? Maybe she was just paranoid, noticing every little sound and shadow.

As she rolled backward in the chair, preparing to stand up and turn off the computer, she noticed something in the wicker wastepaper basket beside the desk. A sheet of printing paper had been hastily folded up and tossed in, and she could see the faint markings of color on it. Curious, she pulled the piece of paper out and unfolded it, her eyes lighting up as they made sense of the markings. It was a map! The printout was very faded but still somewhat readable. She could only guess that Raoul had made a copy, only to discover that his ink was low. He had likely refilled the cartridge and made another one to take with him.

Turning on the desk lamp, Christine was able to make out most of the drawing. "Let's see," she murmured to herself, tracing her finger over the red line. "He went south. And then east." Raoul was right. The location was strangely far from the city...or from anything for that matter. A strange feeling overtook her as she stared downward. There was something familiar about the route. Unpleasantly familiar.

Like a cold gust of wind, it finally hit her and caused a shiver to run down her spine. She had been to that place. It was near the spot where her mother, grandfather, and many of her ancestors were buried. The cemetery had to be abandoned several years ago due to problems with flooding and erosion, one of the coffins even beginning to poke out of the earth. It had been a great sadness for her father that, unless they were willing to go through the painful and expensive process of digging up her mother's casket, he would not be buried next to his wife. No one was buried there anymore. It was a very serene wooded area with little else around outside of a couple of small farmhouses with residents who were far into their golden years.

Christine swallowed and tightly clutched the map. Something was very wrong. Why would Raoul go there? Panic and dread overcame her at the thought of being all alone. She again attempted to collect herself. At least she had something to take to the police now. They could follow Raoul's path...ask witnesses along the way. And maybe the authorities would be able to track down some of Raoul's other contacts to question.

There was little more that she could do on her own. Trying to follow the path by herself would likely be a hopeless cause.

Still gripping the map, Christine scooted the desk chair back in. She glanced out the arch-shaped window of the office, noticing that it was becoming darker outside. As she leaned down to turn the computer off, something suddenly moved in the left corner of her vision. She whirled around to see nothing, feeling her heart rate increase. Convincing herself that it was just a shadow from a passing car headlight, she again bent over to shut down the computer.

Again, she sensed something behind her and turned around. Christine gasped and flinched backward, nearly running into the corner of the desk. A small, black gun was being pointed at her, directly toward her head. A man stood there, his shoulders heaving with heavy breaths. Although the lighting was not that good, she could tell that he was darker-skinned and older. Her eyes flew back to the shiny gun, and she instinctively raised her hands into the air in self-defense.

"Give me the piece of paper," an accented voice steadily commanded.

Her lips trembled, and her heart froze. With a shaking hand, she slowly reached out and gave it to him. His dark eyes gave no hint of what his intentions were, and his small mouth was fixed in a grim expression. "Please," she finally forced herself to whisper.

The man unfolded the map with one hand and quickly looked it over, before placing the crumpled paper into his pants pocket. "Get against the wall," he stated, motioning with the gun for her to step backward. She hesitated. "Get against the wall," he repeated, his voice still calm. She had no choice but to obey, her mind too cluttered with terror for her to make a rational decision. He took several steps forward, still aiming the gun, and then bent down toward the computer. As he typed something into it with one hand, Christine's eyes darted toward the exit. _Could she make it out? Then what?_

The computer let out a long, almost mournful beep, before going dark. The man drew back, cast her a quick glance to ensure that she had not moved, and then began searching the office. As he shuffled through one of the top drawers, Christine flinched forward in an attempt to escape. The man looked up and pointed the weapon directly at her temple. "Ma'am," he stated. "I am an expert shot. If you force me to fire, you will likely not survive. Do you understand?"

His voice was oddly respectful. If he hadn't been holding a weapon at her, she would have almost described his dark eyes as kind. Through her panic, Christine wondered if he really would let her go when he was done. Maybe he was just a robber with no interest in adding murder to his list of crimes. She honestly didn't know whether she had a better chance at running or just doing as she was told.

After what seemed like an eternity of standing against the wall with her arms raised, the man finally finished looking around the office. He turned to stare directly at her. "Ma'am," he calmly began. "And I request you to answer me truthfully for both our welfare. Is there any other place in this house that may tell us Mr. de Chagny's whereabouts? I have looked through most rooms. But perhaps you would wish to be more helpful? For both our sakes."

She swallowed, not understanding what was occurring. Why was this man interested in where her fiancé had gone? Still, she answered honestly, attempting to hide the tremble in her voice. "No. I promise. I don't know of anything."

He sighed, uncertainty and concern in his eyes. "Except for the map." She said nothing in reply, continuing to fearfully watch the gun. "I am in a difficult position," he stated. "I fear that you know more than you should."

Christine felt tears gathering in her eyes. The man had an almost sad expression, as if he didn't want to do what he was about to do. "Please," she pled. "I don't know anything. I promise. Please."

The man tilted his head. "You know nothing? You saw nothing of that map? You were staring down at it for a long time to know nothing of it."

She said nothing to refute this, knowing he wouldn't believe the obvious lie. "I won't tell," she shakily whispered. It now dawned on her that this entire thing was about Raoul. Something was going on, and it was worse than she had imagined. Something awful had happened to him. Something awful might soon happen to her.

The man hesitated, and she could see a layer of perspiration gathering on his brow. "Your fiancé is missing, and you will tell no one what you have seen on this night? I cannot believe that, Ma'am. I am sorry."

Tears now streamed freely down her cheeks as the gun was aimed higher, poised to make a fatal shot. She prepared her shaky legs to run, knowing any attempt to get out of the bullet's path would likely be futile. "Please." A sob emerged from her throat, garbling her words. "I won't. Please don't do this! Please!"

His hands trembled with the gun. Terrible regret shown in his eyes, and he appeared almost ill. Her lips continued to mouth pleas, but her voice had left her. They stood frozen like that for several long seconds, neither daring to move. Finally, he lowered the weapon slightly, so that it was pointing toward her feet. Christine felt her heart jump in pure relief. The man looked toward the ceiling and murmured something she couldn't understand...maybe a prayer. He then stared directly at her. "You will have to come with me," he softly stated.

"But..."

"There are no other options," he gently interrupted. " I am truly sorry. But your best chance of survival is to do as I tell you. What is your name?"

"Christine," she weakly replied, feeling tears again well up in her eyes.

"That is right," he said, as though recalling something. "Come, Christine." He motioned toward the back door with the gun.

She hesitated, before allowing him to herd her through the kitchen and then outside into the warm evening air. A scream began to rise up in her throat, and yet she knew he might very well fire if she were to make any noise. As they walked along the concrete of the back porch and toward some unknown destination, she desperately searched for someone to call out to. The neighborhood appeared empty, save for a younger boy riding his bicycle down the sidewalk. Her vision then fell upon a small dark-blue car parked along the side of the street, hidden under a row of green pine trees. That was their destination.

Her heart hammered. She knew that she couldn't get inside the car. That would be it for her. Gathering all of her energy and adrenaline, Christine slowly turned to the side and discreetly slipped out of her sandals. As it was nearing night time, the houses and trees were casting comforting blankets of shadows in all directions. In a single motion, she made a mad dash forward and into the darkness, bracing herself for a gunshot from behind. None came, but she was aware of a pair of fast footsteps following closely behind her. "Ma'am!" she heard the man call, as she dashed toward the nearby houses. "Do not do this!"

She gave no reply, scrambling over front yards and trying to get far enough away so that she would have time to knock on someone's door. To her dismay, most of the nearby houses were dark and the driveways empty, the wealthy occupants out for dinner. The ground was moist and soft beneath her feet, likely from just being watered. Mud seeped beneath her toes and splashed onto her legs. The shadows were suddenly disorienting, and she found herself almost dizzy as she searched for someplace safe to run to. The footsteps from behind continued to come closer, and the man continued to yell.

Christine sprinted toward the edge of the neighborhood and to the road, almost tripping over the loose pieces of gravel. Quickly glancing backward, she saw with some relief that the man was a little farther behind her. She continued forward, seeing the headlights of cars up ahead and hoping someone would stop for her. To her horrific dismay, she suddenly realized that a chainlink fence, nearly invisible in the darkness, was blocking her way. The man was gaining on her, would corner her if she didn't change her direction immediately. She started to swerve left and into someone's unfenced backyard, all the while wishing more houselights were on.

It was then that something else made her stop all together. Another person had appeared now, the silhouette hidden in the shadows of the nearest house. She froze in her tracks as two tiny beads of yellow came into view, still not quite understanding what she was seeing. Her pursuer suddenly stopped running as well. A chill ran through her bones as the two other souls converged in front of her, thereby blocking her path and cornering her. They silently stared at each other. "You are here," stated the man who had been chasing her, a nervous edge in his voice.

"And it seems that it was a wise choice not to trust you to handle this matter alone," replied the darker figure. Christine's eyes widened at the strange voice. It almost seemed to echo by itself, sounding both horrible and wonderful at the same time. "You will explain this, Nadir," it continued angrily. "Do you know how many people may have seen your little escapade? What is your excuse for this?"

The other man took a deep breath, obviously tired from their race across the neighborhood. "I found her in the boy's house when I was getting rid of evidence," he wearily whispered. "She is de Chagny's fiancee. She saw a map before I could dispose of it. She knows where we are."

The pair of glowing eyes looked toward her once, before quickly glancing away. "That still does not explain _this _debacle, Nadir."

At this statement, the other man hesitated. "I tried to bring her back with me so that she could not tell the authorities. But she ran. I am...not as young as I used to be. My reactions are slower."

Christine glanced to the side, wondering if she could make a run for it. Somehow, something told her she wouldn't succeed. She wouldn't be quick enough to get past the darker figure.

"You intended to bring her back with you?" he enquired in slight disbelief, before chuckling unpleasantly. "All this trouble because you cannot fire a single bullet and simply end it? Ah, Nadir. I sincerely regret bringing you. You are the absolute epitome of human weakness. You had better pray to your God that no one saw this."

Christine's heart jumped in renewed fear for her life.

"You are right!" Nadir retorted, anger now in his voice. "I am weak. I could not do it! She was just an innocent bystander. But you are here now. You are not weak. You do it! She is right there."

The shadow turned. "I suppose I will have to now."

Christine stepped backward as the yellow eyes focused directly upon her. She felt her foot catch on a large rock, causing her to trip backward. Pain flew through her right knee and arms as she slammed against the damp earth. The tall figure was now casting a shadow over her. Nadir had turned in the opposite direction, as though he did not want to see what was about to occur.

Squinting in the streetlights, she could see that he was holding something long and thin in his two pale hands. She looked up into the face, confused as to why the shadows had obscured it beyond recognition, and realized his entire profile was covered in a black mask. All she could do was hold her hands high up in the air in self-defense as the eyes beamed down upon her form. "Please don't," she managed to whisper, not even knowing exactly how he meant to kill her. "Please."

A brief period of silence passed. Suddenly, the figure began to laugh. She shivered violently at the twisted sound. "Observe, Nadir!" he exclaimed in humor. "She has managed to master what most grown men never do!"

The other man slowly turned around. "What?" he wearily asked, a miserable expression on his face.

"Her hands are up at the level of her eyes! Most simply stand there staring at me like idiots. The child has unknowingly defended herself. How amusingly splendid!"

Nadir rubbed a hand over his face. "In the name of Allah, would you please be done with it. Stop torturing her and be done with it!"

Christine shrunk back. She could now see that the man was holding a string or rope of some kind. The end was knotted into a noose. The yellow eyes looked back toward her with an unreadable emotion. She stared up into them from the ground, and the two gazes were momentarily locked together.

"I do believe, Nadir," the figure continued, breaking the silence and running his fingers over the cord, "that the boy would be more cooperative with her near presence. More information was discovered to be needed from him than originally expected, you see. I do not think he would dare lie to us with her right there, do you?"

Nadir hesitated and looked down at her, a more hopeful glint entering his eyes. "No," he quickly agreed. "I think that is a better plan. The boy will cooperate with the girl there."

"Indeed. It would be a waste to do away with her now." The shadow gazed down toward her again. She drew back onto her hands as he spoke to her directly for the very first time. "Now," he began calmly, floating his voice around her. "Will you accompany Mr. Khan in an obedient fashion, or must I put you to sleep?" He swung the coiled rope in front of her like a pendulum, its movement almost hypnotizing.

It took a second for Christine to get her mouth to work. "I'll go," she whispered, knowing her life now depended on it. She didn't even want to think about what fate she had just escaped.

"You see, Nadir. It is not so difficult. Now let us see if you can manage to do the rest by yourself, without disturbing the entire neighborhood. I have other matters to attend to."

Christine blinked only once, and the figure was gone. She and the other man were alone now. Nadir paused, before slowly walking over to her and kneeling down. He was no longer holding the gun in the air, perhaps feeling little need for it now. "It is best we go," he softly stated. Nadir lowered his voice to an almost inaudible whisper. "_He_ will still be watching. You should not try to run again...for your own sake. Your best chance is to come with me."

She nodded and shakily stood up. After the shadowed figure, Nadir's presence was no longer frightening. Her leg was far too sore for her to even try to run, and she knew that the shadowed man _was _likely watching...if he was man. She was honestly not sure. Nothing made sense that night, and she could only imagine what terrible fate awaited her at the place she was being taken.

Christine walked forward, hugging her arms to her shaking frame and keeping her gaze toward the ground. Her mind was becoming numb from shock, and she couldn't even think to cry anymore. Only when she climbed into the confines of the dark and unfamiliar car did she feel the gaze of the two yellow eyes finally leave her.


	6. Into the Shadows

Thanks for all the wonderful support guys! I'm glad no one minds a little evil in their Erik. :) This chapter's not too much better, but we'll be going in a more anticipated direction soon. As far as the back story is concerned, we'll slowly get there as well. Also, there will be a few things from ALW's version added in, mostly where some of the less important characters are concerned. It just kind of fit.

Sorry for the length on this chapter. I'll try not to make them all this long.

**Read and Review!**

Nadir knew he was delivering the girl into the cold hands of an early death.

Or perhaps she had been condemned as soon as she laid eyes on that accursed map.

Nevertheless, her days were likely numbered. Unless someone dared to intervene, she would live only as long as the masked man had use for her, and then she and her fiancé would find themselves at the mercy of a soul who had none. As he drove along a darkened road that bypassed the highway, keeping his headlights at the minimum needed to see, Nadir took a quick glance at his young passenger. Her arms were folded tightly into her chest. Despite the warmer evening, she was visibly shuddering, her face displaying an abnormal pallor. Her clothes were torn and dirty after falling, and, from the way she had limped earlier, he also assumed she had injured her leg. He could only imagine how frightened she must be. But he would offer no comfort...no lies that everything would soon be fine.

Although nothing ever works out perfectly, Nadir didn't expect it to end up in such a catastrophe. He had experienced no problems when delivering the message to a place where it would be found by authorities some time tomorrow afternoon. No troubles had arisen as he broke into the backdoor of the boy's house and began searching the rooms for evidence. During the phone call to Mr. de Chagny, they had carefully instructed the young man to tell few people about where he was going, explaining that Mr. Lawrence's affairs were very sensitive and private matters. He had little time to tell anyone his whereabouts, anyway, as the time between the fatal meeting and phone call was short.

The main place where evidence of Mr. de Chagny's whereabouts existed was at his house, although Nadir knew that his masked companion would ensure every corner was searched. Nadir's responsibility was the home, though, and he spent some time combing the large house for messages and documents. All was going smoothly, when someone suddenly entered from the front door. He had frozen in shock while flipping through a pile of papers.

Peaking out from upstairs, he saw that it was the girl from the newspaper clipping, the boy's fiancee. Aggravated, he attempted to wait until she left, trying unsuccessfully not to make his footsteps heard. He watched her look over the same places that he had searched and realized she was very aware that something had happened to her fiancé. Seeing the panic on her face, he almost felt guilty. She would likely never see him again.

It was only when she entered the boy's office that he became alarmed. He had saved that room for last, as he was not experienced in hacking and planned to spend a chunk of time breaking into the computer. But what if she knew the password? Nadir snuck downstairs, grateful that the girl had been too absorbed in the computer to hear his footsteps. He watched her search file after file to no avail. With relief, he wondered if there was nothing useful in there after all.

Then, the girl had suddenly yanked something from the trash can. Her eyes had lit up, and Nadir knew that she had found something of value. Directions? A phone number? Whatever it was, he was very concerned. He knew he couldn't let her leave without knowing what she held. After he had cornered her and demanded the map, Nadir realized that it was worse than he thought. She now knew the exact place.

It should have ended there. She would go straight to the police, and the authorities would send a search party toward the cemetery. All chances of getting to Phillip de Chagny would be lost. Furious, the shadowed man would probably come after the girl anyway, right after killing her fiancé for lack of usefulness. For the life of him, though, Nadir could not get himself to pull the trigger. Even as she sprinted off into the darkness, he did not have the strength to fire the gun. If his masked companion had not shown up, the night could have ended in a disaster for all of them.

Nadir heard a sniffle from beside him and saw that the girl had begun to softly cry. Her puffy eyes were focused on the windows, and he knew she was still searching for that one last opportunity to escape, even if it meant jumping out of a moving vehicle. "Perhaps you could sleep," he gently offered. "The drive is a couple of hours."

Christine said nothing for a long time, her face flushed with tears. "Raoul is still alive?" she asked after a while, a tremble in her voice. "That...that man said..." She choked, keeping her gaze away from him.

"Yes," he honestly answered, no matter how short-lived the truth was. "He is alive."

"Is he hurt?" Her voice was a little stronger now.

"Not...severely," replied Nadir. "He is conscious...fairly well..."

She slowly nodded and swallowed. As they left the more populated areas and lighted buildings, her mouth turned downward in despair. In resignation of her fate, she leaned back into the seat and stared forward. After another long moment in silence, he wondered if she had gone to sleep. Another soft enquiry proved this untrue. "Why is this happening?"

Nadir hesitated. Of course, it was a fair question. Why was her life being torn from her? Why had she spent this entire evening in terror, never knowing if her next moment would be her last? And yet, he would not answer her. "It is...not your concern. A long story that is not for you."

She turned to look at him with angry disbelief. "But you..."

"I am sorry you are a part of this," he interrupted. "Truly sorry. It was not meant to happen. It has nothing to do with you."

Christine sharply looked away from him and stared back out the window. Nadir sighed, knowing his words didn't help. No justification or excuse held any meaning for her. Frankly, it was a miracle that she was still alive, that she had not fallen immediate prey to the lasso. Even if she would be useful in interrogation, Nadir was surprised that his companion had gone to the trouble of bringing her back. Of course, he wouldn't dare question it.

He continued to silently drive down the nearly empty road, past dark cornfields and rows of green deciduous trees. Taking another quick glance at the passenger seat, he saw that the girl had now fallen into an uneasy sleep, her lips still pursed in an anguished frown. Every so often, she emitted a sigh of distress. He supposed that it was more like fainting from shock, as no one would fall asleep under these conditions.

Nadir stared forward again, forcing himself to keep his mind on the task at hand and to keep his emotions out of the matter. Another miracle would have to occur for the girl not to meet an unhappy ending. And he was not one to perform wonders.

* * *

Christine was awoken from her shallow sleep as the car came to a steady halt, finding herself to be surrounded in almost pitch-blackness. As the events of earlier flooded her mind, she felt her stomach wrench in renewed terror. Her clammy hands gripped the sides of her seat, and her chest rose and fell with each panicked breath. 

"We are here now," stated the man, turning off the engine and removing the key. Nadir hesitated and looked at her. "I know you are tempted to run, but...there is nothing for miles. You would be lost." He pushed up the lock and then waited to see what she would do.

Saying nothing in reply to him, Christine opened her door and stepped outside. The sound of a light breeze whistling through the branches and rustling the leaves surrounded her. An orchestra of crickets softly chirped, and the air smelled of damp wood and dogwood blossoms. Still, the darkness made her feel queasy, and the nearby graveyard sent a shiver through her. She looked expectantly at the man, waiting for what was to come next. Although she loathed him for being involved, he no longer frightened her. He seemed disconnected from everything around him, unwilling to either kill her or save her.

"This way," Nadir tonelessly stated, motioning for her to follow him along a dirt path. The gun gleamed from the inside of his jacket, a constant reminder that he could stop her from running if he truly had to. Christine followed him, nervously looking right and left for both hidden dangers and a route of escape. In the little crescent moonlight, she thought she could see her mother's headstone near the iron fence. A memory returned to her, one of her earliest ones.

_This is where she sleeps, Christine._

Her enquiring four-year-old eyes had looked away from the grave and stared up at him. _Will she wake up, daddy?_

_No. _He shook his head, likely realizing how confusing the euphemism was for someone so young. _No, sweetheart. She's an angel now. But she'll always watch over you._

_Oh. I like angels. _She had taken his warm hand and mimicked his solemn expression, before staring downward again.

She remembered feeling sad but not really understanding the loss. Only very faint memories of her mother still remained, a whiff of perfume or the shine of a pearly smile. That was all.

Christine shivered again. Would she die so close to where her mother was buried? As she walked forward and into the disturbing shadows of the swaying trees, she felt another wave of despairing panic. She wondered if she could run...just keep going until she escaped. The woods looked as though they would devour her, though. She would be lost in the darkness, only to be finally found by those two glowing yellow eyes. The sharp twinge in her knee reminded her of another problem with running away.

As they walked along the path, she dared to ask another question. "If I ran...would _he_ come after me?"

Nadir hesitated and continued walking, showing no signs that he was about to reach for his gun. "I am afraid so. You know too much. It is really a miracle that..." He quickly tapered off.

She silently nodded and continued to follow him. In the distance, she saw a large, foreboding structure and knew that was their final destination. Again, she wondered if there was any chance at escape. The gnarled branches of the trees were menacing, though, and she didn't even remember the path back to the cemetery. Did her chances lie better inside that strange house or out in the middle of these woods? How had she gotten herself into this mess? What had she done? Another sob escaped her throat. Nadir turned to her, genuine sympathy now in his eyes. "You will be fine tonight," he stated with certainty. "No one will hurt you tonight."

The fact that he only said she would remain unharmed tonight alarmed her. What about the next night? Or the night after that? How could he be so calm? As they neared a large wooden door, she again considered running. An eerie whistle in the trees prevented her from dashing forward. As Nadir opened the door with a creak, she followed him into the brick house, thereby sealing her fate.

Her eyes gazed around a large entryway, most of the walls paneled with wood. A few older pieces of furniture sat to the sides, the color on the sofas faded and the wood scratched and chipped. Only a dusty lamp lit the room. Christine suddenly shrank back as another man entered, a grey and ragged beard covering half his wrinkled face. He stared at her oddly for a moment, before speaking to Nadir. As her language had been French in high school, she was able to understand much of what was said.

"Who is this?" he enquired, gesturing to her with an unnerving glint in his green eyes. "A visitor?"

"I will explain in a moment," Nadir wearily replied. "Let me get everything settled."

"But who is she?"

"The boy's fiancee. Now please permit me to do my job, or he will not be pleased." Nadir turned to her. "Come up the stairs, Christine."

She tore her gaze away from the creepy stare of the other man and attempted to keep up with Nadir. They walked up a long flight of creaky steep stairs and into a dark hallway with several doors. Nadir hesitated in front of the second one on the right. She waited in apprehension. "I will...permit you to see your fiancé," he said, moving to unlock the door. "I do not know what final sleeping arrangements will be, though. It is up to _him_."

Her hand flew up to her mouth as she walked in and adjusted her eyes to the dim lighting of a single bulb. "Raoul!" Dismal walls of concrete stood on all sides of the square room. The only furniture inside was a broken desk, and the single window had been halfway boarded up. Her fiancé was sitting on the floor and leaning against the wall. An empty glass sat beside him, along with a pillow and an old grey woolen blanket. His face was haggard, and his normally neat clothes were torn and dirty. To her relief, though, he didn't appear to be seriously hurt.

His shadowed eyes widened at first in shock and then in horror. He quickly jumped to his feet and ran over to her, hands outstretched. "Christine!" he gasped. " No! You can't be here. No! You can't..."

She ran over and hugged him, beginning to openly weep into his shoulder and taking what little comfort she could from the warmth of his body. "What's going on?" she managed to ask through her tears. "Why is this happening? Why do they want you?"

"Christine," he hoarsely began, wrapping his arms tightly around her slender shoulders and burying his face in her hair. "You've got to get out of here. You've got to..."

She just shook her head. "I can't! Why is this happening? Tell me what's going on."

"I don't know," he whispered. "I can't...I don't know. But what are you doing here? You can't..." He choked. "You can't stay here. They'll kill you."

She took a quick glance back at Nadir, who was just watching them with a somber and regretful expression. He seemed to have no intention of bringing the conversation to a halt. "I was at your house," she rapidly began, as if knowing their time together might be short. "I found that map you made. I was going to get the police, Raoul. But they stopped me! I don't understand. Who are they?"

"I don't know, Christine." Still holding her, Raoul suddenly looked up at Nadir. "Let her go!" he exclaimed. "She has nothing to do with any of this. She can't tell you anything. Let her go!"

Nadir tiredly shook his head. "It is out of my hands," he stated.

"Then whose hands is it in?" he asked. "That...that..."

Christine raised her head. "The masked man." She softly finished the sentence. "Is it him? Who is he?"

"I don't know," her fiancé replied. "Who the heck is he?" he angrily relayed the question to Nadir. "What does he want from me? Tell him to let her go."

"No!" she interrupted. "He has to let both of us go! We haven't done anything. I don't understand. I..."

The energy in the room suddenly shifted, and the temperature dropped. Christine quickly fell silent and looked in the other direction, letting out a soft gasp at the yellow eyes that appeared out of nowhere. Raoul tightened his grip around her shoulders, looking in the same direction as she was. Nadir simply remained in place, like a soldier waiting for a command.

The glowing orbs focused on the embraced couple, slowly grazing over them with an unreadable emotion. The thin, formally-suited figure stood at least a foot above her, and Christine could see just how pale the skin on his bony hands was. The black mask glimmered in the little lighting that existed."It seems that my reasoning tonight was correct," finally stated the spine chilling voice. "I imagine you are willing to be cooperative now, Mr. de Chagny? You would not dare lie now, would you? Not with your most precious jewel here."

"Let her go," Raoul stated, after taking a moment to find his voice. "Leave her alone!" Christine remained frozen beneath his arms.

"I do not think so," the masked man replied. He turned to Nadir. "Bring the girl closer."

Nadir paused, before gently taking her arm and leading her out of Raoul's hold. She flinched but put up no resistance. Her fiancé started to move forward in an attempt to grab her back, but she gave him a desperate look to stay still. Fighting back would not help right now. Her only prayer was that they would survive the night. Their best chance of escape would be during the daytime...when the masked man was not in sight.

She soon found herself positioned between Nadir and the shadowy figure. Her eyes widened in fearful anticipation as the latter stepped directly in front of her.

Her fiancé glared. "Get away from her!" he yelled. "Leave Christine out of this. For God's sake, let her go."

"_Christine_, is it?" the shadow asked with the hint of amusement. "Well, Christine will remain intact, providing you cooperate. I am a reasonable man, you see. A very reasonable man. I just wish for information." He gave a sort of short mock bow.

"What do you want?" Raoul asked through gritted teeth.

"Let us begin with something simple. Where are your father's two European accounts located? Surely you know such a small fact."

"Switzerland and Belgium," Raoul sharply replied, keeping his eyes on her. Christine just nodded, encouraging him to say what he had to.

"And now he tells the truth, Nadir!" exclaimed the masked man. " See how very convenient this is." The question had been nothing but a test.

"Let her go, and I'll tell you whatever you want," her fiancé stated. "Leave her out of this."

"Oh, I could not do that, Mr. de Chagny. It all works so much better with her right here. Wouldn't you agree, Nadir?" Nadir just grunted in agreement. "Yes. I really could not have planned it better." The eyes turned to look at her, and she stepped backward. A part of her wanted to ask questions...to demand answers, and yet it was like trying to talk to something beyond her comprehension...something shadowy and intangible.

"What do we do with them?" asked Nadir with a hint of exhaustion in his voice, as though he desperately wanted the night to be over.

"I will not have them conspiring together in the same room, although it would likely be entertaining to see what they came up with. But no." The eyes gleamed. " We will keep it simple. They will be separated. As long as one is here, I sincerely doubt the other will attempt to escape."

Nadir hesitated. "Where will we put her, then?"

The figure took a moment to contemplate. "Perhaps the boy could be locked in the shed at the back, and the girl could remain here. Even if he managed to break out, I do not think he would dare leave her." A pause. "Or would he?" At this comment, Raoul suddenly flinched forward in a last attempt at resistance. She watched in horror as the long cord was instantly whipped out and poised to strike.

"No!" she cried out, feeling Nadir grab her arm and hold her back. "Please don't! Please! Please just let us go!"

"Do you really want to test me, boy?" the masked man questioned, ignoring her and taking a step toward her fiancé. "Do you really wish to try?"

Raoul raised his hands in self-defense and stepped backward again. Christine felt her heart hammer inside of her chest, despite the fact that his life had seemed in far more danger than her own.

"She can have my room," quickly stated Nadir. "I do not sleep much, anyway. Let her have it. It would be a hassle to have him in the shed."

"If you insist," stated the masked man with indifference, replacing the unusual weapon into his suit. "Keep them separated. Now. My patience is waning." The voice was no longer amused. Just bitter and cold.

She shot one last desperate glance at Raoul as she was led out of the room. He just looked back at her helplessly. The door sharply closed, and they were separated. Turning to her right, she saw that the masked man had again vanished, obviously satisfied with the current arrangement. Nadir was heading down the hallway. Feeling dizzy, she momentarily leaned against the cold wall for support before quickly following him.

"Right in here," he softly said, opening the door of the room on the end."Just allow me to clean my things out. There's not much."

She looked inside and saw that this one had a cot and a dresser. Faded blue wallpaper also lined the walls, giving the room less of the appearance of a prison cell. A few books and papers were scattered here and there, along with some personal items like a razor and towel. Her head was too cluttered to focus on anything specifically. Sitting down on the cot that she assumed was now hers, Christine numbly stared at the floor. A cold draft swept through the room, making her shiver. "What is he?" she whispered, as Nadir gathered up an extra blanket and several books.

He glanced at her. "Just a man, I suppose."

She just sat there looking downward. "Will he kill us both...when it's all over?" Her voice quivered.

Nadir sighed and stood up straight. "Try to sleep, Christine. That is the best thing you can do for yourself." He closed the door and locked it, leaving her to herself. She could see it in his eyes, though, a knowledge that her future was dismal. Still trying to register all that had occurred, she laid her head onto the thin pillow and just stared up at the cracked ceilings. There were no more tears left in her eyes, and she was left to just lie there as frantic thoughts rushed through her mind. _How long would she live? Was escape possible? Could she get Raoul out? _Her heart pounded, and her breath was ragged.

In all the exhaustion and terror of the evening, she must have drifted off. At some unknown hour, Christine was momentarily awoken from a troubled slumber by the smooth and perfect sound of a violin, echoing throughout the home. Listening to the beautiful legato melody, she briefly wondered if someone had turned on a radio or CD. Another wave of panic began to wash over her, but it was quickly quelled by the enchanting music. She was soon lulled back into a peaceful sleep, briefly able to escape the horrors of the day.


	7. A Desperate Solo

Hey guys! Thanks for all the reviews and support. I need them, as this story can be occasionally draining. I'm making both an attempt to provide proper descriptions and still move the plot along. If there are problems with the pacing, though, feel free to tell me. Enjoy the next chapter! It's long, but you all seem to like that. :)

**Read and Review!**

There was no soft morning light, filtering in through the window of her bedroom and gently touching her face, to awaken her. Upon opening her eyes, Christine first blinked in surprise at the unusual dimness and then uttered a soft moan of horrific remembrance. Her gaze traveled around the barren little room. A tiny and dirty window let in a solitary ray of sunlight, thereby signifying daytime. As to how late it was, though, there was no way of knowing. Sitting up in the hard cot, she felt claustrophobic, as if the dreary walls would suddenly close in around her.

All the memories of the previous day returned to her in a traumatic jumble. Questions flashed through her mind. She wondered how long she would be there and whether anyone would ever come in. Did praying it would be over soon mean she was also praying for her death? Would she wait in here for days, only to be strangled by that horrifying noose? She lay back down and buried her face into the folds of her pillow, attempting to maintain her fading composure and restrain from sobbing.

Her only small comfort was that Raoul was just down the hallway. Not able to run into the comfort of his embrace, she could only pray for his safety. A horrible vision passed into her thoughts, of her having to watch while he was murdered. She'd seen such heart-wrenching stories on the news, of vile men making people watch as their loved ones were killed in hideous ways. Such an awful and twisted form of torture...

Turning her face out of her pillow, she desperately searched the room for any sign of escape. There was nothing. Only the single door led to the hallway, and that was locked. The window was barely big enough for her to fit her head through. Even if she miraculously made it out of her bedroom, she would be captured before she could ever get to Raoul...before she ever made it out of the house. And only God knew what would happen to her then.

She coughed from dehydration. Her mental state of panic had overwhelmed her so much that she'd forgotten her physical state. Her thick hair was matted with perspiration. She felt dirty and sticky from her sprint across the neighborhood and tumble into the moist dirt. Whenever she bent her knee, a twinge of pain ran up and down her leg. Her stomach ached with both nauseating anxiety and unrealized hunger.

During her father's illness, on the especially difficult days, she had learned to mentally drift away...to detach herself from reality. She would curl up into a ball and focus on a specific thought, momentarily escaping her pain. Now, she attempted to do the exact same thing before she went insane from panic. For a moment, Christine closed her eyes and tried to focus on her wedding dress, for that was the first item that came to mind. She tried to picture each design and adornment, each bow and lace. When that didn't work, she attempted to think of something else...a song from a performance, maybe. Her mind had suddenly gone all blank of lyrics, though. Her mind was devoid of any thoughts, save for the terror of her current situation. How can one distract themselves when they might die at any time?

The sound of the door unlocking and creaking open caused her to bolt upright in the cot. Her heart calmed slightly as she saw that it was only Nadir standing there. They just stared at each other for a moment. In some ways, though, seeing another human being was a slight relief. "Good morning, Ms. Daae" he stated dully, as if knowing she was experiencing something far from it. "How are you...feeling?"

"I...I'm fine." She didn't hide the tremble in her voice and made no attempt to appear brave. Maybe he would even take sympathy on her if she acted miserably.

Nadir just nodded. "I have brought you some food. It is not much. No worse than what I have been eating, though." He set a plate with a square, white-breaded sandwich down on the dresser, along with a clear glass of water.

She just nodded back and mumbled a thank you. "What time is it?" she asked after another moment, needing to give some clarity to her situation, even if only the hour of the day.

"A little after nine in the morning." She nodded again. Nadir hesitated and shifted his weight. "The bathroom is directly on the right side of your room. You may use it if you have to. There are soap and such things if you need them. I will wait in here."

Her head shot up, and she practically jumped off the bed. "Yes. I will. Thank you." Christine ignored his expression of worry, perhaps in reaction to her eagerness to get out, and made her way into the bordering room. It had all the appearances of an older bathroom, with an enormous round tub that stood on four curved legs and wood paneling around the sides of the walls. The large silver knobs on the marble sink had begun to rust, and the floral wallpaper had almost completely faded. Still, it was heaven just to be out of that room for a moment. She splashed cold water over her face and into her hair, trying to clean the grime away and feel somewhat civil again. In a large and dusty mirror over the sink, she was able to see how swollen and puffy her face was. Her clothes looked wrinkled and dirty, but little could be done about that.

Once she was finished inside, Christine just stood there for a moment, slowly drying her hands on a single cloth towel that she had found on one of the wooden shelves. With her head a little clearer, she attempted to think of a plan. At least they didn't mean to keep her in that room with no contact from the outside. She was meant to be fed and kept alive, or at least Nadir had enough sympathy to make her minimally comfortable. Christine took a deep breath. Now was not the time to run. No. But it was possible that the opportunity could come later.

As she finally stepped out of the bathroom, she shot a quick glance toward the closed door of the room that held Raoul. Nadir was watching her carefully, reaching out with one hand to usher her back inside. She willingly reentered her designated room and sat down on the cot with a deep breath. "Does...does Raoul ever come out?" she quietly asked. "Is there any chance I could see him?"

Nadir paused and rubbed his chin. "Very rarely. Likely only at night, after it is assured that you have gone to sleep. I would urge you not to try to meet with him."

Her heart fell a little, but she remained calm. "Does he get to eat?"

"A little. But not as well as this," he somberly stated, gesturing toward the untouched sandwich.

Christine frowned at the clipped answers, before looking him the eye. "Are you supposed to do all this for me? Will you get in trouble?" Although grateful, the last thing she wanted was the anger of the masked man directed at her and the sole person who might be willing to help her.

"Ms. Daae," Nadir slowly began. "There are no specific rules on your treatment. Make no mistake. _His_ hate...our anger rests with the de Chagny family. You are inconsequential...a means to his ends. As long as you are secured up here, he does not really care."

She nodded, closing her eyes before asking the next question. "But I'll still be killed when it's over?"

"I do not know, Christine."

"Please," she pled, tears welling up in her eyes. "Just tell me the truth. I need to know."

His expression softened. "I honestly do no know your fate. It depends on many things. Your fiancé, though? It is very likely that things will not turn out well for him."

She just silently stared down at the floor. There were so many other questions, but she didn't dare ask anymore. The answers might be devastating.

Nadir started to leave the room but froze in the doorway. "Perhaps you would like something to keep your mind occupied?" he softly asked. "I have a book, an anthology of several stories. I have never read them." He swallowed. "They belonged to...well, that does not matter. You are welcome to them, though."

Christine looked up and nodded, noticing the glisten of sadness in the man's eyes. "Yes. Thank you."

He nodded back and left the room, closing and locking the door behind him. She was beginning to sense a sorrow in the atmosphere of this home. Even behind the hatred of the yellow eyes, there was something almost mournful. Nadir returned a moment later with a large, leather bound book that she saw contained the Brontë sisters' most famous stories. He laid it on the dresser beside her meager meal. "Perhaps that will keep you occupied for a few hours."

"Thank you. I'm sure it will." She gave him a quick glance of gratitude, before he again closed the door and left. It was impossible to hate Mr. Khan, even if he was technically one of her captors. He almost reminded her of her grandfather, a kind, quiet man who spent most of his time tending to a vegetable garden and letting others make all the decisions. At the moment, Nadir was the one person she thought she could rely on, maybe even convince to help her.

After a minute, Christine arose from the cot and retrieved the food and water. The sandwich, which consisted of salted ham and American cheese, was bland, or perhaps she had lost her sense of taste amidst her fear. Nevertheless, she nibbled on it if for nothing more than to soothe her stomach. The water felt good, cooling her parched throat and relaxing her nerves.

For the remainder of the endless day, she spent her time unsuccessfully attempting to absorb _Jane Eyre _or just lying on the cot. She constantly listened for sound outside, for some clue as to the well-being of her fiancé. Nadir came in two more times with food. On one occasion, she considered attempting to push past him and trying to escape. Regaining her senses, though, she realized that would get her nothing more than a potentially fatal confrontation with the masked man. She had this feeling that _he_ was omnipresent, that nothing could escape him.

As Nadir collected the remainder of her supper that evening, a beef and vegetable stew, she looked up at him. The enclosure was beginning to become maddening. "How long do you think it will be?" she enquired. "Until...this is over."

"I would say weeks," he replied. "It depends on many things. But no more than a month." The thought made her feel nauseous, just sitting in this tiny room for weeks...dwelling on whether she would live or die. _There had to be a way out..._

"Good night," he abruptly stated, offering no false words of comfort. She glanced at the window, realizing that it was indeed dark. Without her permission, Nadir turned off her light and closed her door. She lay down onto the pillow with a heavy sigh, feeling no signs that sleep was coming. It was only minutes later when she heard the unforgettable tenor voice down the hallway, angrily speaking to Raoul. She clutched the covers up to her chin and listened.

"May I remind you that your fiancee is down the hall?" the voice snarled. "Will you be more cooperative if I bring her out? Must I resort to that?"

Frozen beneath the covers, Christine braced herself for the door to fly open. She heard the faint sound of Raoul's voice but couldn't discern what he was saying. The haunting voice spoke again. "That had certainly better be the truth, Mr. de Chagny. You will suffer if it is not." She could only assume that Raoul had finally given the masked man what he wanted. A door was slammed shut, and all became silent. Shuddering, she sank beneath the covers, eyes wide with fright.

Just as it had the night before, the violin began to play minutes later. The music was sadder this time, and she felt tears running down her cheeks as it played the forlorn melody. Again, she wondered where the sound came from. Christine's last thought before drifting off was a strange desire to go toward the instrument that brought sleep and such great peace of mind.

* * *

One day later, Nadir sat at the dining room table, scanning over a newspaper and searching for any announcement of the boy's kidnaping. Buquet and Darius were situated in the other room, listening to the local news on a tiny television with an antenna. So far, there had been nothing. Either police were investigating to ensure that it was not a hoax, or the note had not been found yet. Nadir cringed at the latter thought, knowing his dark companion would not be pleased if there was an error with the timing. The girl had now been missing for two full days, and Nadir wondered if her presence would be missed by anyone. All would be revealed in good time, he supposed. 

At the moment, the masked man was absent. He tended to disappear and reappear during the evenings and early mornings, although Nadir didn't know if he was working on the mission or simply seeking solitude. He didn't ask, either. All Nadir knew was that his companion could only stand to be around other people for the briefest amounts of time.

"I am bored," loudly stated Buquet from the other room. The television had been shut off. "We have done nothing but sit in this rathole for days. I would murder for a drink"

"I know," Darius murmured in agreement. The twenty-nine year old had an effeminate quality to his voice, sometimes sounding more like a schoolboy than someone out for revenge. "Maybe we could find the car and go out for a while. But he said not to, didn't he?"

"One day _he_ is going to push me too far," Buquet muttered back in a low voice.

Nadir shook his head from his place in the dining room and tried to continue reading. After a moment, he tossed the paper aside. The house suddenly seemed overly warm and stuffy. Although he was technically in charge of affairs, he didn't see what harm could come from stepping outside for a moment.

He walked into the warm evening air and inhaled the calming scents of the forest, feeling a cool breeze touch his brow. Yellow and orange patches of wild flowers grew where the light was able to break through the branches. Cicadas buzzed off in the distance. Looking up, Nadir could see the tiny window that marked the girl's room. In twenty minutes or so, he would check on her one last time before dark. To his relief, she had not flown into complete hysterics after two days of captivity. Understandably, she constantly asked about her fate, but he could not give her a genuine answer. The masked man had said nothing either way.

He briefly wondered if there was a way to convince his dark companion to let the girl live in the end. They could be gone from the area before she contacted the police. She was just so very young and innocent of all this, simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. The boy was likely doomed, and Nadir would not try to change that. But maybe he would dare to put in a kind word for the girl.

Nadir rubbed the bridge of his nose and walked around the woods for a while, feeling a little bit more clearheaded as he admired the vegetation. It was liberating out there. When all of this ended, perhaps he would buy a cabin in the woods with the newly acquired funds...live there alone until his death.

As he finally approached the back door to go inside, he suddenly heard a soft yelp from behind the torn screen. A woman's yelp. Nadir quickly flung the door open and raced into the sitting area, his eyes widening in surprise and anger. Buquet and Darius stood in the center of the room. Christine was trembling between them, after clearly just being brought down the stairs. Nothing vulgar had happened, but she was obviously scared out of her wits.

"What the hell are you doing?" Nadir angrily questioned, motioning toward the girl with one hand.

"Calm down," replied Buquet. "All three of us had nothing to do this evening. It is a courtesy to get her out of that tiny room for a while. She was miserable in there, and I have not seen a real woman for months. Everyone is happy now."

"No. They are not," growled Nadir. "I am taking her back upstairs."

Buquet stepped in front of him. "Come now. Would you want to be cooped up in a room for two days in a row? Surely not! Let her stay for a while. Perhaps she can be of entertainment. Can't you, girl?"

Christine just stepped back with a look of panic, her eyes darting over to Nadir for help.

"Surely you do something," stated Darius, also speaking in French with a semi-friendly grin. Although usually a mild-mannered man, it was obvious that isolation was getting to his nerves as well, eroding his decency. "How about a dance for us?"

"Yes! A dance," stated Buquet in his native tongue. "There is no need to be frightened, girl. Relax."

"You are scaring her to death!" retorted Nadir, trying to break his way through the taller man. "She cannot even understand what you are saying. And when he finds out of this..."

"_He_ will not find out unless someone tells him," snarled back Buquet, now more interested in asserting his power than actually keeping the girl there."I have had enough of worrying about what _he_ is going to do. That noseless freak thinks he can control everyone!"

"Enough!" shouted Nadir, attempting to push past him. Buquet was the physically stronger of the two, but Nadir was slightly more experienced in hand to hand combat.

The girl stepped back as all three men surrounded her, looking completely confused and terrified. "I can't dance," she softly pled, obviously making an attempt to interpret their quick foreign words. So far, that request was all she seemed to understand. "I can't dance."

"And you won't have to," Nadir gently told her. He turned back to Buquet. "Release her now and stop this. You are scaring her."

"Aren't you happy to be out of your room, girl?" Buquet questioned, roughly shoving Nadir backward. Nadir felt the room spin as his head slammed into the wall. A wave of pain ran through his skull. From somewhere in the room, he heard Christine utter a weak protest. Clutching his head, Nadir quickly composed himself, intending to advance toward Buquet and throw a hard punch. The man was becoming dangerous to the mission.

Just as Nadir gathered his bearings and steadied himself back onto his feet, he heard a sound that made him wonder if he'd sustained a more serious head injury than originally thought. But no, the sound was real. Still cowering below Buquet and Darius, the girl had begun to sing. Maybe it was a form of cantharis for her, a release of all her fear and terror. Or maybe she was trying to provide an alternate form of entertainment, still thinking they wanted her to dance. Nevertheless, she was singing in an operatic soprano voice, certainly no song that he recognized. Her eyes still had a panicked look, as if the song was a desperate attempt to appease the room full of frightening men. The melody had a frantic quality to it.

Nadir just stood there in surprise, making no move to prevent her from the emotional purge. Maybe it would make her feel better. Buquet chuckled over the song. "Girl's got lungs on her." Darius nodded and stood back, obviously amused and content with the entertainment. Nadir doubted any of them had enough experience to say whether the singing was good or not, but the event was shocking enough to keep their attention. Tears fell down her cheeks as she continued, hitting higher notes and adding vibrato.

Out of the corner of his eye, Nadir thought he saw a shadow shift by the doorway. He sharply turned his head to look but saw nothing unusual. Still, his stomach tightened nervously.

Finally, the song ended on a quiet note. Or at least the girl suddenly stopped singing. She looked back and forth between them, her eyes finally settling on Nadir. "That's all I can do," she shakily whispered. "I'm sorry. I can't dance. I don't understand what they want. I can't speak French that well."

Buquet laughed at her timidness, and Christine flinched backward. Nadir started to step forward and interfere, with all intentions of getting her safely back into her bedroom. He was stopped in his tracks as the shadow entered the room. Nadir wasn't completely surprised by the revelation, but he didn't understand why the masked man had only chosen to make his presence known now.

All four souls in the room looked up at the towering figure. Darius attempted to step aside and look uninvolved, and Buquet drew his head back but kept his feet planted. The girl's eyes widened, and her hands clenched into tight fists. Nadir prayed she wouldn't try to run away in her fear.

The masked man approached Buquet, and the eyes glowed angrily. Buquet's bearded face paled, no longer containing the sneer of bold defiance. "Did I in any way permit you to allow her out?" hissed the shadowed figure, taking another threatening step forward. "Did I ever issue such a command?"

"No, sir," muttered Buquet, looking toward the ground. Perhaps he was not so ready to die after all.

"They will remain in their rooms unless I say otherwise! Do I make myself very clear?" The glowing orbs passed over all of them, daring them to go against him.

Nadir and Darius merely nodded. "It will not happen again," muttered Buquet, raising his hands in self-defense.

"See that it does not! There will be no more second chances for you, Buquet. I know your game of defiance, and it will end this night. " The masked man then slowly turned and faced Christine. An abnormally long pause followed, the color completely draining from the girl's face as the eyes hovered upon her with an unreadable emotion. "You will return to your room now," he evenly stated in English. Nadir noticed that the maliciousness had left his tone. The girl just bobbed her head up and down, before racing back up the stairs, her footsteps echoing off the hollow walls. _He_ continued to watch her as she ascended the steps.

After a few seconds, Nadir dared to speak, attempting to change the topic. "The news was on," he announced. "There is nothing about..."

"I have no time for this now!" the masked man harshly interrupted, stepping past him in a whoosh of blackness. Within an instant, he had shut himself inside the dining room. Nadir stared at the closed door in surprise, feeling as though he had entirely missed something of significance. The earlier anger made perfect sense. But the franticness to get away...to seek solitude in that room was odd. The violin began to play quickly and sharply, almost unpleasantly. A strange current of energy seemed to sizzle in the air.

"One day," whispered Buquet with another sneer, "he is going to find that noose around his own neck."

Nadir just tiredly shook his head and left the room.


	8. The Request

Thanks for all the lovely reviews guys! I'll start doing more replies every so often because I truly do appreciate them. The story picks up a little here, so I hope everyone enjoys the chapter. I'm also glad you like my characterizations, as they're sometimes the hardest to work out.

For this story, I am taking tidbits from Susan Kay's version here and there. If you haven't read it, you'll still understand everything in the end. Those who have read it may realize certain things a bit quicker, though. And with that, I give you the next chapter!

**Read and Review!**

For the third morning in a row, Christine awoke in the confines of the dreary bedroom. After what had occurred the previous evening, though, it was slightly less of a prison and more of a sanctuary. Surrounded by those two leering men, especially the one with the beard, she had been frozen with fear. Although their words were often indiscernible, she could see the gleam in their eyes. It was not the cold indifference that lay in the yellow orbs, either. The glint in the bearded man's eyes was very human...and very disturbing.

Her song, the first aria from Mozart's _Bastien und Bastienne _and an old performance piece, had been a desperate attempt to both please and distract them. Maybe they thought her insane after the odd display, but at least it had shocked them away from her. Frankly, it had felt divine to release all her pent up stress and terror through her vocal chords. It had been some time since she sang like that, but the act had never felt so utterly relieving.

The masked man had made his entrance at the exact time she had finished. Terrified, she was only thankful that he had not blamed her for anything that had occurred. He had actually allowed her to escape from the situation, raging at the bearded man instead. The entire event was exhausting. Now, whenever the door creaked open, she was immediately on her guard until she saw that it was only Mr. Khan with food or necessities.

Desperate to escape her thoughts until Nadir came in that morning, she opened the thick book he had generously given her. After failing to become absorbed in _Jane Eyre_, she began to flip through some pages and glance over the other stories. As she neared the last quarter of the book, something caught her eye. Flipping backward into_ Shirley_, she finally saw the small objects again, tucked away within the crease. At first, they just looked like two pieces of white cardboard. Turning them around, though, she realized with surprise that they were old photographs. Careful not to bend or crease the pictures in her hand, Christine removed them.

They were in color but of a poorer quality, appearing as though they had been taken within the last thirty or forty years. The first one had a head-shot of a younger darker-skinned woman, the edges of a grassy field behind her. A dark-blue head scarf covered nearly all of her hair, although it appeared that one black strand had accidentally been swept down by the wind. Her cheeks were cutely rounded, and her brownish eyes had a peaceful quality. Her small lips were set in just the slightest of smiles.

The second photograph had the previous woman plus another one of about the same age, both of them standing at a distance from the camera. They were situated far enough apart to make Christine assume that they were more acquaintances than friends. Her blue eyes widened as she studied the second female. The woman could only be described as breathtakingly gorgeous. Shiny, ebony curls framed a fair-skinned face that consisted of high cheekbones, a dainty nose, and full red lips. She had the tiniest smile, as if she knew a wonderful secret. Her enormous brown eyes sparkled in the daylight, her long eyelashes even visible in the faded photograph. If she were wearing a gown and some makeup instead of an ordinary house dress, the woman could have easily been a movie star. Christine's eyes traveled downward. Maybe the woman did have a secret. Her stomach just barely bulged with the first months of pregnancy.

She turned the photograph over, somewhat delighted to find writing on the other side. Two first names had been hastily scribbled with a pen. Hamideh was the one who had shown up twice, the darker-skinned one. The beautiful woman was listed as _Maddy._

As the lock clicked on the door, Christine quickly stuffed the photographs back into the book and closed it. She knew the pictures weren't meant for her eyes, but they were her only current glimpse into the past. Hamideh and Maddy. For all she knew, they were just two insignificant women. And yet, a strange feeling told her they were so much more.

Nadir poked his head in. His eyes were ringed with exhaustion. "Good morning, Ms. Daae."

"Morning," she murmured, taking a quick glance downward to make sure the pictures were safely hidden.

"How are you feeling?" He paused. "I apologize for what occurred yesterday evening. I should not have left the house. I promise that it will not happen again."

She nodded. "That's okay. I...I wasn't hurt."

"Is there anything I can get you? I will bring up food a little later. Anything else, though?"

"No. I'm fine. I just..." She tapered off, fingering the edge of the thin blanket.

"What is it?"

"Is there any way I could see Raoul? Just for a moment. Just to see if he's okay."

Nadir sighed. "_He_ would not allow it. It would cause so much more trouble than it is worth. However...I will check on his state of health for you later."

She frowned but nodded. "Okay. That would be great. Thanks."

He nodded back and left the room.

With a despairing sigh, Christine lay down and curled into a ball, continuing to await that moment of decision and change...continuing to await her fate. And also, beginning to wonder where this had all begun.

* * *

Nadir had just reached the top of the stairwell after visiting Christine, when he heard the excited voice of Buquet from downstairs. He frowned, still furious over yesterday's brawl. If his masked companion had not stepped in at the right moment, who knows what would have happened. Still, Joseph Buquet's next words made him momentarily brush his grudge aside. 

"It is on television now! The kidnaping is on!"

Nadir rushed down the stairs and into the sitting room, attempting to get a clear view of the screen. Darius had already positioned himself directly in front of the tiny television. The masked figure slowly entered the room, his eyes expressionless as he positioned himself at a hearing distance with his arms folded. The voice of a young female anchorwoman sounded into the air.

"Police have now determined that the received note is not a hoax. Raoul de Chagny, son and heir of famed entrepreneur Louis de Chagny, has not been seen or heard from for the last four days. An intense search is currently being performed of both his home and work. Although police are not ready to publicize the contents of the note, foul play does appear to be involved. Anyone with information about Mr. de Chagny's whereabouts is urged to call the number at the bottom of the screen." A short pause followed. "Police are also interested in the current location of Mr. de Chagny's fiancee, Christine Daae. She was last seen by both her friend and Raoul Chagny's neighbor on Tuesday evening. Although authorities are not willing to say if there is a definite connection between the two disappearances, the coincidence is disturbing. We will keep you updated on this rapidly unfolding story."

A man's voice cut in. "Thank you, Marie. We'll look to you to keep us informed on this breaking event. In other news..."

"Definitely a beginning," murmured Nadir as Buquet shut off the television. They were all careful to save the battery. "Perhaps going more slowly than anticipated, but a beginning."

Darius just nodded. "_Much_ slower than anticipated," stated Buquet with annoyance, lying back onto the sofa with his legs sprawled out.

The masked man said nothing, silently turning around to make his departure from the room. As he reached the doorway of the dining room, he suddenly paused and turned back around. "Nadir. It is necessary that I speak with you." His voice was calm, giving no hint as to his current mood.

Nadir slowly nodded and headed for the dining room, closing the door behind him and ignoring the curious gazes of Buquet and Darius. Thinking his masked companion wished to discuss the broadcast, Nadir began to reason through it. "I do not know if that note alone will bring Phillip back into the country. It may take another note of a more forceful nature...I..."

"That will all be determined in good time," he clipped. "I have not come this far to rush into idiotic plans simply because Buquet has the patience of a two-year-old infant."

"Of course." Nadir nodded, feeling a sudden tension in the room. The masked man suddenly turned to face the wall, hands folded behind him. A silence followed. "What did you wish to discuss with me?"

He continued to face the wall, his chin tilted slightly upward. "A simple request of you."

Nadir waited again, clenching his jaw at the strangeness of the situation. Usually his comrade was direct and to the point, rarely ever sidetracking. "Very well. What?"

"Do not enquire why I ask it of you, either. I know how inquisitive you can be, old friend. "

Nadir's eyes narrowed in confusion."I will not."

The masked man faced him, his eyes an odd shade of yellow. For a very brief moment, Nadir thought he saw a flash of unusual uncertainty. He felt almost on even grounds with his comrade, as he had been many years ago. Of course, the sensation disappeared as soon as he actually heard the request from that cold voice.

Nadir could feel the color drain from his face.

* * *

When the door to her room unlocked with a sharp click, Christine glanced up from the book with unpleasant surprise. Nadir had just been in there minutes ago. Usually his visits were between the hours. She watched him walk in, a shiver running through her as she saw the look of concern in his eyes. His mouth was set in a straight line of worry. 

Her heart gave a little jump. "Is...is something wrong?" she shakily asked.

"I..." He cleared his throat. "I'm afraid that your presence has been requested."

Christine blinked at the formal statement. "My what? Why? By who?"

Nadir inhaled and gave her a sympathetic look. "_He _wants to see you downstairs...in the dining area. Now."

As soon as her brain had comprehended just what he was saying, Christine's eyes widened and she gripped onto the sides of the cot as if to prevent him from dragging her away. Several shivers began at the top of her spine and traveled down her back. "Why?" She could barely get the word out.

Nadir put his palms upward in a helpless shrug. "I honestly do not know the answer. Perhaps he thinks you have information that could be useful. That is all I could say. I am sorry. I don't know what to tell you."

"But I don't!" she pled. "I don't know anything. I promise!"

"I know, Christine," Nadir gently assured her. "I will... attempt to straighten this out. But it is best to do as he says right now. Waiting any longer could put you in peril."

Placing a hand to her right cheek in distress, Christine slowly arose from the cot. She felt almost numb as she walked forward, staying close to Nadir's side as they went down the hallway. Visions of the noose ran through her mind. A choked sob escaped her throat. "It will be fine," Nadir stated without much conviction. She thought she heard Raoul say something from behind the door but wasn't for certain. Nadir continued to usher her forward.

Ignoring the curious stares and murmurs of Buquet and Darius, she followed Nadir to what she assumed to be the dining room. Her breath caught in her throat as he opened the door. The room was surprisingly spacious, containing only a long, wooden table that could have seated up to ten people. A small, dusty chandelier hung in the center, dimly lit by electric lighting. Empty cabinets and shelves decked the sides, crafted from a dark and polished wood.

_He_ stood at the other end of the room. The two yellow eyes beamed directly upon her form, and she searched them for maliciousness. Had Nadir not been directly behind her, blocking her path, she would have considered running.

"Sir," Nadir wearily began. "The girl does not know anything of significance. I do not think you will find anything from her. She has only known de Chagny for a year."

The eyes glanced at him with something akin to annoyance. "Your presence is no longer needed here, Nadir. You may leave now."

"But, sir. The girl has nothing..."

"Leave."

A shadow fell over Nadir's face as he lingered in the doorway, but he obediently stepped backward. He gave her one last sympathetic glance and quickly left the room. Christine pressed herself up against the now closed door, fearing she might faint at any time. Her heart hammered almost painfully. She was at his mercy. No Raoul. No Nadir. No one could help her.

He kept his distance at the opposite end of the room, bony hands clasped together. Her gaze remained on the floor as his eyes traveled over her. An awful silence passed.

Finally, he spoke. "For what span of time have you forsaken your voice?"

She blinked in confusion, not able to mentally register the phrase. "What?" she whispered.

"Your voice, _Christine_," he repeated with only the vaguest hint of annoyance. "For how long have you been without instruction?"

Still bewildered, she managed to answer. "Two years," she murmured.

He slowly nodded once and looked away from her. "I would have assumed one." By the time she had even comprehended the slight compliment, he was speaking again. "And what led you to so quickly abandon your aspirations?"

"I...I don't know," she choked out, still confused.

He tilted his head. "Surely you must know by now that I abhor lies. You do know why, Christine. No one completely forsakes their greatest asset for no reason, not unless they are extremely self-destructive. Now, why?" The eyes studied her.

The questions were personal, and yet she wouldn't dare refuse to answer. Let him know whatever he wanted, even if the enquiries didn't make sense. She only prayed this wasn't some sort of mind game. "My father..." She took a deep breath. "He became ill. He died."

"And afterward?"

Perhaps she shouldn't have been surprised by the complete lack of sympathy. "I became engaged."

He chuckled. "And that arrangement has certainly led you down a charming path," he sarcastically stated, widely gesturing toward her current dismal surroundings. She kept her gaze on the ground, awaiting whatever was to come.

His mood sobered, and he turned slightly so that he was no longer looking at her. From beneath the black material of his suit, she could see his protruding shoulder bones and just how thin he really was. "I wish you to sing now as you did yesterday." It was the first statement she had ever heard him say that almost sounded reluctant, as if there was some effort to asking it.

"What?" she enquired.

"Sing, Christine."

"But I..." She stopped in the middle of the protest. She had thought the masked man was going to torture her, and he only wanted her to sing? Perhaps she should obey. Her voice trembled as she stood up straight and began, the lyrics timid and mumbled.

He stopped her after only one line of the aria, eyes flashing with irritation. "No. That was in no way near your ability of yesterday. It was wretched." He took a frightening step toward her, inspiring a certain amount of fear. "Begin again."

"But I don't think I can..."

"Again, Christine." The eyes glowed.

Gathering all of her tension and terror as she had the day before, she threw it into her voice. He allowed her to continue this time, never looking at her as she sang. If she concentrated on the song, she was momentarily able to forget her situation. In her opinion, she finished strongly...perhaps better than she had yesterday. Her breath was quick as she silently waited for him to say something...anything. A part of her wondered if he would begin laughing, if this was just some game he was playing to humiliate her. He did not laugh, though.

"And sing the caged bird does," the masked man quietly said, again turning to look at her. When he wasn't angry, which was very rare, his voice was strangely pleasing, almost musical in itself. She just stood there silently. The look in his eyes was unreadable but not threatening. "That will be enough now." Christine glanced up in shock, not believing that this was all he had wanted. "You will return to your room," he firmly reiterated.

Christine quickly nodded and whirled around, letting out a cry as a sharp pain traveled up her leg. She had stood there stiffly for such a long time that her knee was suffering for it. Without looking backward, she limped out of the room and raced back up the stairs, ignoring the continuous ache. Slightly disoriented, she did not even look to see if the bearded man was watching her. Entering the hallway, she began to make her way to her room.

"What happened? Christine?" The voice of her fiancé suddenly came from behind a closed door.

"Raoul!" she quietly exclaimed, relieved to hear his voice after all this time. It momentarily pulled her out of her shock.

"Are you okay?" His tone was frantic."Were you hurt?"

"No," she stated, attempting to calm her own voice. "I'm fine, darling. I'm fine."

"What did they want from you? You couldn't know anything."

She hesitated, the truth feeling strange. "He...he just wanted me to sing. That was all. I don't know why."

"What? Who wanted you to sing?"

"The masked man."

"_What?_" Tension marred his voice. "Did you?"

"Well, of course," she whispered back. "I'm just trying to survive here. What did you expect me to do?"

"No," he softly replied. "Nothing. I'm sorry. I just...don't even like the idea of you being around that...that fiend. You're sure he didn't hurt you? He just wanted you to sing? Why?"

"No. I'm fine," she gently whispered, placing a hand on the door. "Let's not talk about it anymore. Nothing happened. But you! Are you okay? How are you?"

"Surviving," he murmured. "Mostly exhausted." Indeed, she could hear the weakness in his voice. It was obvious that his stay had been even worse than hers.

"I'm so sorry," she gently replied, hoping her voice brought him some comfort. "I'm still trying to think of a way out. I just don't know..." She looked up as she heard soft footsteps. "I have to go, Raoul. Nadir is coming to put me in my room."

"All right," he replied. "I love you."

"I love you, too," she murmured, holding back several tears. "Don't worry about me."

Nadir frowned in disapproval but said nothing, as he led her back to her bedroom. She took a calming breath as she sat upon the cot, before looking up at him. "What was that?" she quietly asked. "Was it...was it a trick? I don't understand why he wanted to see me."

He hesitated. "I do not know, Ms. Daae. But...I do not think it was a trick." Nadir paused, before suddenly setting a bottle of white pills upon the dresser. "An analgesic...to take down the pain and swelling in your leg."

"Thank you!" she exclaimed, standing up and reaching for the bottle with relief. "It's been really bothering me lately."

"I actually did not know we even had them until today. Apparently, we did." She squinted at him in confusion. Nadir gave her a bewildered shrug before leaving. "Take whatever miracle you can."

Although completely lost, Christine was quite aware that her chances of survival had increased on that day. As to why, she did not know.


	9. Alliances

Thanks to everyone who reviewed! I'm glad you're enjoying. You're going to get a brief glimpse into the back story in this chapter. There is still a lot more to it, though. So while Erik's anger is partially explained in this chapter, there are still many other contributing factors. I hope you continue to enjoy the story.

Sorry for the second submission. Quiet2885 made a _big _error. ;)

**Read and Review!**

The fax machine released a low and mournful beep, before falling completely silent. Phillip de Chagny stared at the wired contraption for several long seconds, massaging his aching temples with his fingers. With a quiet curse, he then snatched up the wireless phone from its holder and punched in a long number. He spoke as soon as the ringing ceased and someone had accepted the international call, not even bothering to see who had answered. "The damn thing isn't coming through!" he angrily exclaimed. "How hard is it to send a fax?"

"Calm down, Mr. de Chagny," stated the man on the other end. Static crackled over the phone line. "I'll try it again."

"I'm not about to calm down after my brother just disappeared off the face of the earth," he snapped back. A migraine was slowly building at the front of his head, pounding at his skull, and a nauseating sensation was eating at his stomach. "You people don't seem to know a damn thing."

"I said that I would try it again," the man repeated with irritating calmness. He was likely someone of fairly high standing within the FBI, or at least in the government, quite used to angry and panicky people screaming at him over the telephone.

Phillip sighed, shook his head, and sat back in the leather office chair. He was a man of slightly above-average height, standing at exactly six feet tall. His shoulders were broad, and his frame was well built, giving him an intimidating presence among men and a physical appeal among the ladies. His dark blonde hair was clipped short, a necessity in the corporate world where masculinity was still very much cherished. Unlike his brother, he knew how to keep control of about any situation...how to always turn the wheel in his favor.

That is, until recently. For the first time in his life, Phillip de Chagny was at a loss for what to do next.

Finally, the machine gave a high-pitched beep, before softly buzzing as a single sheet of paper traveled outward from the bottom. Before the message was even completely through, Phillip grabbed the sheet of paper, ripping off the bottom half of it in his frantic eagerness. "You get it?" asked the man on the other end.

"Yeah," he replied. "Give me a moment." His hazel eyes traveled over the message. On printing paper, it appeared to be a harmless note until he actually read the words. He could only imagine what it had looked like with the original red ink in which it had apparently been written. Blood red, someone had told him.

_Mr. Phillip de Chagny,_

Did you truly think that you could hide from us forever? Did you honesly believe yourself so godlike? Perhaps you did, Mr. de Chagny. After all, you have received everything you have ever wanted in life. We daresay far more than you deserve. Perhaps you think that you are truly invincible. Unfortunately, even the highest of men fall from their pedestals, and the time has arrived for you to come crashing down.

We have something that we believe you will find of value. Your brother, Mr. de Chagny. Does he deserve our wrath for your sins? That is for you to decide, my friend. Should you care for his welfare, we advise returning to the United States immediately. There, you will find a precise list of our monetary demands, along with the steps you must take in order to ensure your brother does not die a slow and torturous death.

The games have come to an end, Mr. de Chagny. It is time for us to be compensated, and we will wait no longer.

Sincerely,

_The Survivors_

He read through it a second time, before laying it down onto the desk tabletop. A chill ran through his bones, and a thick bile rose in his throat. "This is it?" he asked into the telephone, the previous anger in his voice replaced by a fearful uncertainty. "This is all you have?"

"That's it," replied the other man, grimly. "Can you make anything of it? We're still examining the original. No luck, yet."

"I..." He hesitated, trying to think straight. _God, he needed a drink right now_."It's something that goes a long way back. I'm not...sure about everything."

"Are we dealing with the mob or something?" questioned the investigator, a note of exasperation in his voice. "Please be direct, Mr. de Chagny. Your brother's life depends on it right now. Anything at all could be of use. "

"I'll call you back," he stated, before quickly slamming the receiver back into its holder. Scooting the chair away from the desk, he jumped up and gazed out the window of the office in his tiny apartment. Six floors below him, the city of Beijing buzzed with people. Bicycles and cabs raced down the streets, some nearly colliding at their rapid pace. Groups of women walked with bags and baskets, their well-behaved children attempting to keep pace at their sides. At the moment, he was perfectly concealed in the capital city of the country with the highest population on earth. He had even told different people different things...Japan, Korea, India. No one could find him in this mass of faces, and he wasn't about to give anyone any more information than was absolutely necessary.

As the message had stated, he did feel invincible. Or at least, he had until several days ago.

They had found his brother.

"Raoul, you idiot," he miserably muttered. "I told you to keep a low profile." His younger sibling had even sent him the newspaper article that announced his engagement to some broad. God knew that the whole city of Chicago had likely seen it.

Phillip paused, before picking up the phone again. After quickly flipping through a Rolodex that had belonged to his father, he punched in a different number. A woman's voice responded after one ring in a thick British accent. "Is Frederick there?" he impatiently asked.

"One moment." A silence followed. He could hear murmurs in the background before someone answered.

"Hello?" asked a deep voice, also heavily tinged with a London accent.

"I suppose you've heard the news by now?" enquired Phillip, not even bothering to introduce himself. The man had better know who he was by now.

"Phillip," stated Frederick in immediate recognition. His voice had a slight knowing edge. "I have. You have my full sympathies. How in God's name did that happen? Didn't you warn him? You should have taken the lad with you to China."

"I don't know," he wearily replied, not in the mood to be judged by a man who had a new extramarital affair every month. "I did try to warn him, all right? I tried. I just can't believe...Damn it. I never took it all seriously. Well, the threats, I did. But not this..._The Faceless Man_? The death's head? Sounds like a couple of bad horror movies."

"Well, it isn't a movie," Frederick harshly replied. "You think all these men were left hanging from their necks by pure coincidence? He's real. The group is real. Hell, I would know."

"How would you know?" Phillip suspiciously asked, standing up straight and walking to the window. "Dad never even knew all that was going on. He was still worrying about it on his deathbed."

"I'm afraid I have no time to go into details. I have company for dinner this evening. Let us just say he was a dirty little secret for quite awhile."

"Who?"

"Our...faceless man."

"What?" questioned Phillip, making no attempt to hide the exasperation in his voice. "And how exactly did your little secret become a murderous psychopath?"

A low laugh sounded from the receiver. "You would be a bit looney, too, if you'd been locked in solitary confinement for a decade. Unless they put him in with the other prisoners for a good scare. Frightening place, that is. God knows how he managed to escape." After a pause, Frederick's voice became more somber. "But he is nothing to make light of."

The sickening feeling grew in the pit of Phillip's stomach. _What the heck had his father been involved with? _"What was he in prison for?"

"Like I said," Frederick whispered. "He was a bit of a dirty secret."

"Meaning?" Phillip gritted his teeth.

"Meaning we needed his lovely _face_ kept hidden."

"He was innocent?"

"Not anymore, he's not."

"For the love of God!" raged Phillip. "My brother is missing, possibly even dead. Every day I find out some new disgusting fact about what you people were doing. And this entire thing with me and my father's will is your fault anyway. _You're _going to get me out of this! Stop playing games with me. How the hell do I get to my brother?"

"Now, now," chided Frederick. "Calm down before you do something rash. My advice is to stay where you are. The second you reach the US, you're a dead man. Let the authorities have at it for a while. Maybe they'll actually find something of use. See if you can make any negotiations over money without actually going to the states. That's all my advice. Sorry. Like I said, you should have kept your little brother hidden."

Phillip rubbed a hand over his face. "You know?" he stated, growing tired of the older man's casual tone. "If they're coming after me, they'll certainly come after you."

"And I'm counting on it," was the calm reply. "Listen. It's time for me to go now. As I said, I have company for tea. Lovely couple of women. Too bad you are not here to meet them."

Phillip grunted a goodbye and slammed down the receiver. He attempted to compose himself, to remember just who he was and what his heritage meant. No matter how inept everyone else was, he would find a way out of this. He was, after all, a Count by birth. He was nobility! All rage was suddenly directed at his deceased father for tossing the noble title aside as if it were insignificant.

In the end, he decided to blame his father for all his current troubles, including the fate of his younger brother.

It somehow seemed easier that way.

* * *

Christine's gaze was again focused upon the beautiful and flawless face of Maddy. With few other people around-no females at all- she had formed a sort of imaginary friendship with the two women in the photographs. They both seemed so distant from her current world, so fresh and bright and free. Their smiles held secrets of delight and promise for the future, and their faces were devoid of any distressed furrows or wrinkles. What had happened to them...and Maddy's child, for that matter? Who were they? Were they even still alive? The open green fields behind them gave no clues as to their location or to when they had lived. They were permanently frozen in time and space. 

When the door suddenly opened, Christine again was left to quickly stuff the photographs back into the book. She watched in slight horror as the one with both women slipped out of her hands. She, and now Nadir, both stared downward as it fluttered to the floor, landing face down on the wooden floorboards. Her blue eyes darted upwards with guilt. He didn't appear to be angry, though. His dark eyes were distant, and his mouth bore no emotion. "Ah," he stated after an awkward moment. "I had forgotten those were in there."

She quickly reached down and scooped up the faded picture. "I..." Christine stuttered for a moment. "I just found them today," she lied.

He nodded, still showing no sign of being agitated at her discovery. "Yes. I suppose they can stay in there. There is...no better place for them."

She blinked in surprise at his indifference. "Oh. Okay." Christine paused and looked down at the photograph again, wondering if she should dare ask. Maybe he wouldn't mind. "Do you know who are they? Hamideh and Maddy. I was just curious."

Nadir sighed and scratched the back of his head. "Hamideh was my wife," he somberly explained. "She passed away many years ago. Maddy..." His expression suddenly darkened, and he refused to meet her eyes. "Madeleine was just a friend of the family. No one of any importance." His explanation of Maddy's significance was very hasty, and she could almost see the lie in his dark eyes. Still, Christine did not press any further.

"I'm sorry," she murmured, referring to his wife.

Nadir nodded once. "It was a long time ago." She waited for him to continue, but he said no more on the topic. After a moment, another unnerving expression crossed his face...similar to the one of the day before. He let out a sigh before continuing. "I came in to tell you that your presence has been requested again this evening."

Christine held her breath, not as petrified as she has been yesterday but still quite frightened.

"Why? Is it...for the same reason?"

Nadir shrugged. "I am assuming so. He will tell me little."

Christine nodded and wearily arose from the bed, bracing herself for the long march to the dining room. "You have no idea why he wants me..."

"None, whatsoever, Christine. Simply do as he says for now."

Descending down the stairs and into the front area, she was somewhat grateful to see that the other two men were not there. The thought of the bearded man's lustful eyes still caused her to shiver in disgust. Nadir quickly guided her to the dining room door, and she watched with dismay as he refrained from following her in this time. She cast a helpless backward glance as the door swung closed, before hesitantly directing her attention to the front of the room. There he stood again...the shadowed man with the yellow eyes, looming at least a foot above her. As usual, he was formally dressed in a timeless black suit, a white dress shirt slightly revealed beneath it. Christine waited, putting all her energy into remaining calm.

The eyes studied her. "Does it please you to come out of your room?" The question was toneless.

Christine hesitated. Had she not been afraid for her life, she would have enjoyed it immensely. Still, she chose the answer that she hoped would not anger him. "Yes. It's...good to come out for a while." Her voice was weak and shaky.

He nodded once. "I would assume one would loathe being forced into a cramped room for days. But perhaps it is preferable to my company, no?"

Christine froze, mulling the question over in her mind before coming up with a coherent response. "I...like to come out of there," she again stated, praying that was the 'right' answer.

He showed no discernible reaction to her statement, slightly turning his head as though in thought. His hands were folded in front of him...such long, thin hands. "Your voice has been utterly neglected, Christine. To a regrettable extent. It is a shame you made the choice to abandon it."

"I...didn't have much of a choice," she softly replied, daring to defend herself.

The eyes glimmered. "Everything is a choice, Christine. I am not one to believe in fate or destiny. It _was _your choice." She said nothing in return. "Allow me to put this in simple terms. I am forced to remain in this wretched place until the operation is carried out, likely over several grueling weeks. You will obviously not be venturing far, either. " He paused. "In this period of wasted time, I wish to correct your decision."

She blinked. "What?"

"I wish to repair your neglected instrument. Call it...a hobby of mine, if your wish...a way to amuse myself and accomplish something of artistic value. You will receive lessons, a retraining...the goal being perfection and nothing less. In return, you will be allowed out of that little hole for a brief period. And perhaps you will come to realize your mistake."

"You want to teach me to sing?" She practically choked on her own words, wondering if her fright had caused her to hear things.

"No!" he stated harshly, causing her to shrink back. His voice softened slightly. "You are quite aware of how to sing. That would take years to achieve, of which I do not have. I simply wish to tune and mold your voice, remove the imperfections."

"Why?" she whispered.

He tilted his head. "As I stated, a way to entertain myself during these tedious hours. It is your choice, though. All is truly a matter of choice."

Her mouth momentarily hung open. She steadied herself by leaning against the wall, trying to quickly make a rational decision. Her mouth seemed to speak before her brain had processed it all. "Yes. I...I would like that. Lessons, I mean."

The masked man nodded, slight satisfaction in his eyes. He seemed to draw away from her, thereby lessening the tension. Christine could only assume she had told him what he wished to hear. "Scales today," he stated. "You were straining your vocal chords during the aria, although your motives for singing were for a bit more than entertainment, and so I will overlook it." A tinge of amusement was in his voice. "They must be redeveloped and strengthened." He spoke of her as if she truly were an instrument. She was stunned, merely nodding her head as he instructed, not daring to make challenges. He seemed to know what he spoke of, anyhow, for her professors had made similar statements.

"As you can imagine," he began, "it is impossible to have a piano at our current location. This will have to make do, although I can assure you that it is perfectly tuned." Her eyes widened in surprise as he suddenly took out a violin from behind the dining table. The ornate instrument was beautifully carved, with an ebony fingerboard and maple bridge. The varnished wood of the hourglass body glimmered in the dim lighting.

"The violin," she murmured, looking it over with slow realization.

He briefly glanced down at it, before looking back toward her. "What of it?"

"Nothing." She swallowed. "I just hear it at night. I thought...Never mind." Remembering her frightening company, she resumed her passive and silent stance.

"You thought what?" he sharply enquired.

"I thought it was a recording." _Did that sound insulting? _The last thing she needed was his anger. "I thought it was professional," she timidly corrected herself.

A silence followed. "I see."

"That was..._The Swan_ yesterday?"

"It was."

She nodded, feeling her stomach somersault as he just watched her. He stared almost as though she were an object of curiosity, as if he had never seen a blonde-haired, blue-eyed female in his entire life. "It was really nice."

"Not the most challenging of pieces but pleasing to the public ear, I suppose," he abruptly half-agreed, standing at his full height and getting down to business. "Let us begin the scales now. It is getting late, and I have errands to attend to soon."

Standing up straight, Christine inhaled a deep breath in preparation. Uncertainty and confusion lingered in the back of her mind, but she ignored them and attempted to concentrate on her voice. Her voice was what had rescued her, after all. Locked in her room, she would later have all the time in the world to figure out just how she had gone from being a hostage on death row to a vocal student of..._value_.

* * *

Nadir sat in the armchair of the sitting room, casting a glance toward the closed dining room door every couple of minutes. He could hear Ms. Daae's soprano voice ring into the air, along with the occasional sound of a violin or _his_ booming voice commanding her to stand up straighter or to alter her breathing. He was glad that Buquet and Darius had stepped out for a walk in the woods, both needing some fresh air. They were unpleasantly confused over the entire thing, and Nadir had no way to explain it. 

"Perhaps _he_ is as bored as we are," Nadir had joked as Christine's voice had sounded out from the other room the day before. Buquet had just grunted in reply, a scowl forming on his bearded face. Darius had shrugged.

That was still Nadir's best explanation. His masked friend had always needed to keep busy with something...composing, building, and creating in youth; now plotting the demise of many people. When times had been less hectic, he would sit for hours and hours playing whatever instrument happened to be available. Perhaps _he_ was in need of something to do. The girl had a pleasant voice, and his masked companion had likely taken on a project.

Besides, he wasn't about to argue over the matter or to question the motive. Nadir was almost sure that Ms. Daae would survive her stay here. Not to mention that his masked friend had even shown the slightest interest in her welfare, finding-or purchasing- the analgesic for Nadir to give to her. No, he would say nothing to protest this. Christine Daae had run across a bit of luck.

Within several minutes, the door squeaked opened and Christine stepped out of the room. Her eyes were bewildered as she gazed over at him, but she was clearly unharmed. Nadir started to follow her up to her bedroom , but the voice of his comrade made him turn back to the dining room. "Nadir?"

"Yes, sir?" He poked his head in.

"I am departing for several hours. See that we have no repeat incidents of last time. Christine is to remain in her room."

"Of course," he replied. "I will stay inside." The masked man nodded and disappeared, a strange sort of energy lingering behind him. After standing by himself for an awkward moment, Nadir headed back up the stairs. At the top, he could hear Christine sharing whispers with her fiancé.

"He's the one who plays the violin!" A pause. "Well, no. I just thought...it was interesting. No. I just never knew where the sound came from." A longer pause. "No...I'm sorry. Yes. I know." Nadir could make out Christine's voice, but the boy's was muffled behind the door. She sharply glanced up. "I have to go, Raoul. Nadir is here."

"Is everything well with you, Ms. Daae?" he kindly questioned as he lead her to her bedroom. A small frown had formed upon her face, and her brow was furrowed.

"Yes," she softly replied, sitting down upon the cot with a yawn. "I'm just...tired."

"I see." Nadir left the room and closed the door, watching briefly as she lay down and closed her eyes, a soft sigh coming from her lips as she immediately fell asleep. From downstairs, he heard a door open and shut, marking the return of Buquet and Darius. Clenching his jaw, Nadir quickly descended down the steps to ensure that all remained calm and organized.

At least, however, he now had an ally in his protection of the girl. A powerful ally, for that matter. It was strange how quickly the tides could turn.


	10. Bodyguards

Hey guys! Thanks for all your support. After doing a little outlining over the past few weeks, I've decided to slightly change the direction of the story. It won't require any editing of the previous chapters, but it might change the summary a little. Updates may be a little delayed over the next few weeks, too, as I'm going on vacation. I'll try to get another chapter out, though.

Also, I'd like to give a big thanks to Ripper de la Blackstaff for helping me with some of the French that I'm sprinkling into the story. Check out her Deviant Art Account. She has some hilarious POTO comics, along with some lovely (sometimes steamy :D) drawings of Leroux E/C. Her account name there is RipperBlackstaff, or you can find the link on her fan fiction account under Ripper de la Blackstaff. Enjoy!

**Read and Review!**

When Nadir came to retrieve her the following evening, Christine no longer questioned their destination. His hesitant gaze said everything, and arrangements had been made the previous day. She silently nodded and arose from the bed, following him down the stairs and to the dining room. The other two men were again absent, which she strongly hoped would continue to be the case.

Inside the dining room, the masked man was already situated with the violin positioned in his bony hands. The yellow eyes settled upon her as she stood before him, her terror of earlier replaced with more of a gnawing anxiety. He nodded once in acknowledgment of her. "We will begin with scales again," he evenly stated, wasting no time with idle chat.

She nodded quickly and cleared her throat. "All right." As he played the violin, her voice went up and down with the notes, smooth and liquid at first and then more staccato. He then forced her to do a pronunciation exercise, in which it took several tries for her to get the remaining tremble out of her voice. If she concentrated on the music, she could somewhat push her situation and fear from her mind.

Memories came back of warming up years before with her instructors and professors, of stretching her vocal chords in preparation for a performance. A tiny frown formed upon her lips as she realized that once reachable notes were now out of grasp. With frustration, she began to strain to reach them, almost desperately trying to climb to where she had once been. The violin suddenly ceased playing.

"I think we have tested your limits," the masked man stated, tilting his head and momentarily setting the stringed instrument onto the table.

"Maybe so," she softly replied, her chest heaving with deep breaths.

"You are disappointed in your ability?" he eagerly questioned, perhaps eyeing the troubled expression on her face. "Now you see what occurs when a gift is neglected. It rusts and decays and festers." He paused, entwining his long fingers together. "Fortunately, in your case, it can be repaired with time. And effort. Are you willing to invest effort, Christine?" The eyes gazed directly at her.

She looked up. "Yes. I said that I wanted instruction."

The eyes glimmered. "Ah...but there is a difference between desiring to escape from your room for an hour and actually wishing to improve. You think me ignorant?" Christine's eyes widened in fear, until she saw that he didn't appear to be angry. "Your situation has not bypassed me, Ms. Daae. I have no doubt that many ulterior motives are hidden in every corner of your mind."

"No..." she started to protest.

"Hush! I told you that I despised lies. Now is your opportunity to decide whether you wish to mold and perfect your voice, to go beyond your own expectations. A second chance, if you will. You will prove whether you truly wish for this, or if it is merely another game."

"I do," she softly stated, the words flowing with ease off her tongue. "I want to improve. I really do. I...always have. "

He eyed her closely. "We will see."

Slowly raising the violin to his chin again, the masked man continued with warmups. With almost indignance, Christine began to sing to the best of her ability, fighting for perfect pitch and to reach the notes. He no longer played as high up on the scales, perhaps choosing to take some mercy upon her. When warmups were over, the masked man seemed satisfied, making no more comments about her true reasons for being there.

"We will begin working on your aria of earlier today, for I do believe that your voice is appropriate for Bastienne." He paused. "It is a pity. Had you not abandoned your gift, I believe you could have quickly moved toward the more difficult pieces designed for a lyric coloratura. But...the past cannot be changed." An unpleasant shadow of anger passed through the glowing eyes, and his hand clenched into a fist. "Indeed the past cannot be changed." The shadow of hatred faded.

By the time the lesson was over and the masked man had sent her away, she was completely exhausted. Yet, it wasn't the draining sensation of terror and hopelessness that had clung to her soul for these last few days. Dragging her feet up the wooden stairs, she felt the slight sense of accomplishment. She was improving her situation, indirectly improving Raoul's situation, and...she was slowing discovering her voice again. Yes, she had motives, but there were more than just one.

Noticing that Nadir had momentarily stayed downstairs to speak with the masked man, she quickened her pace up the steps and stopped by the room that held her fiancé. Very softly, she rapped on the smooth wood with her fist and whispered his name. "Raoul? Hello?"

"Christine?" His weakened voice was immediately at the door. "How are you? What's going on? I can hear you down there...singing..."

She paused. "Yes. I am. He's still teaching me...or helping me to improve." There was something awkward about explaining it.

"I don't understand. Why does he want you to sing every day?"

"I don't know," she honestly replied. "He thinks that I could be better. He wants me to improve."

"But, _why_?" There was an edge of alarm in his voice.

"I don't know, Raoul. But what do you want me to do? Refuse him?"

He hesitated, before sighing softly. "No. Of course not. If your singing is somehow making both our lives more bearable, then continue. Just...be careful. I don't trust him."

"I will," she replied. "And I promise we'll get out of here. Both of us. I promise."

"God, I hope you're right," he whispered. "I keep thinking that someone's going to walk in here one day...and that's going to be it. Once they get to my brother, they'll have no use for me."

"Don't say that!" She was unnerved by the pessimism in his usually optimistic tone. "We are going to escape. We are!"

"Christine." Nadir was standing at the top of the stairs with his arms folded, wearing a frown of disapproval.

She sighed and nodded. "I have to go now, love. Take care."

"Goodbye," he wearily replied. "Be careful."

She knew that his last sentence was in reference to her shadowy vocal instructor. Oddly, though, Christine no longer felt her life was in imminent danger from the masked man. Unless he was even more cruel than she had imagined, she doubted that he would build up her voice only to do away with her. Too much effort was being invested into her. At least, she prayed that was the case.

That night, Christine slept fitfully for the first time since she'd been there, unremembered dreams passing through her mind all through the dark hours. The only thing she could recall when awakening was the face of her father, smiling with what she hoped was pride. He'd said something to her, although no memory remained of it. A single tear ran down her cheek as she opened her eyes and stared up at the ceiling. Sitting up, she noticed that the familiar ray of sunlight had not yet crept into her bedroom. Something else had awoken her.

She looked to see Nadir standing within her bedroom, unsuccessfully attempting to be quiet as he laid several items upon the floor. There were a few brown paper bags, along with two rectangular white boxes. Noticing that she was awake and staring at him, Nadir immediately stood up straight and cleared his throat. "Just some things to make your stay slightly more comfortable," he slowly explained. "A change of clothes...some...well, I will let you have a look."

Her eyes lit up a little, and she hopped off of the cot. "Thank you so much, Nadir. I honestly don't know if I would have survived here without you." A small smile of appreciation graced her weary face.

He hesitated and scratched his stubbled chin. "Christine...these are not from..." His voice tapered off.

"They're not from what?"

"Never mind. It is not important. I will give you some time to look through them before breakfast." Before she could reply, Nadir quickly departed from the room and shut the door. Christine stared after him in confusion for several moments, before kneeling down to the frigid floor. After hesitating for only another second, she began to sift through the papers bags. Bars of soap, shampoo, and a wooden hairbrush were contained in one sack. She briefly smiled at the rosy fragrances of the soap. It had been so long since she'd even seen a flower.

The boxes contained several changes of clothes, including a pair of jeans, grey slacks, a blue T-shirt, and two dressier shirts with buttons and patterns. She brightly blushed at the undergarments, even more grateful to Nadir for going to the awkward trouble of getting them. Pushing the clothes aside, she looked inside to find a toothbrush and some other basic items. Finally, there was another thick book inside one of the brown bags, a collection of some of Shakespeare's more famous works.

Christine leaned against the base of the dresser for a moment, foreign relief coursing through her veins. Slowly picking up the brush, she pulled it through her matted and tangled hair. It felt almost refreshing to do something so repetitive and normal. Softly humming the aria, she then climbed back onto the cot and opened her new book. _She would survive this._

* * *

Frederick Oliver flinched as the door suddenly flew open behind him, letting in a strong gust of London wind into the entryway, along with the faint scent of rain. It was then violently slammed shut, the crash echoing throughout his enormous home and shaking the whitewashed walls. He had been lying in a leather reclining chair with the intent of taking an afternoon nap and escaping the stress around him. The affair surrounding Phillip de Chagny had placed him in a foul and edgy mood. As far as he knew, Phillip was still in China, fretting over whether he should return to the states or not. 

Frederick cursed in annoyance and turned around to see who had entered and disturbed the peace. The eldest daughter of his older sister stood before him, her bright green eyes narrowed in fury. His niece was dressed in a flamboyant and expensive scarlet dress that stopped right above her knees. The tight velvet material displayed her generous curves and perfectly matched her sweptback hair. _Redheads and their tempers _thought Frederick to himself, knowing full well that he was about to be screamed at. He had been expecting it, though.

"That voice message?" she angrily questioned_. "_What was that about? How dare you ask me to..."

"Come, Carlotta," he interrupted, slowly standing up to face her. _"_You are taking it out of context. I am doing nothing but asking you to lay low for a little while. Stay safe."

"Lay low!" she exclaimed. "I'm a singer, for God's sake! I'm on stage almost every day! How can I possibly lay low? I'm just now actually getting somewhere after all of my hard work! And you want me to hide now? How dare you!"

"The rest of our family is taking some time to vacation, to disappear for a while. Why can't you do the same? Just until this all blows over. Do you want to end up like the de Chagny boy? Dead!"

"If I leave now, I will never regain my place!" she snapped. "I have worked for years to get where I am, and I am not hiding away because of your inane mistakes. _You_ are the one who is to blame for all of this! I will not suffer for it!" Her shrill, angry voice echoed off the high ceilings, seeming to shake the ornate pottery and statues that decorated the shelves

"It is for your safety!" he begged, reaching a wrinkled hand out toward her. "No more than a few months. A year at most."

"I will have bodyguards," she snidely replied. "Surely you can afford them after all you've managed to squander away from people. Get me three bodyguards, and I will be just fine."

"Do not place this all on me," he stated, anger entering his voice. "It was no more my fault than anyone else's. Including Louis de Chagny's."

"I don't care whose fault it was. It certainly wasn't mine, and I'm not going to pay for it. Now I do hope they find Phillip's younger brother, but it is certainly not my problem. Opportunities are flying my way, and I do intend to worry about your affairs, Uncle. This is my life now. Not my mother's. And certainly not yours."

"Carlotta..."

"No! I am done here now. I don't even want to see you again. You will ruin my name with all your stupid scandals. If you truly care about me, you will get me bodyguards. Otherwise, I have nothing to say to you. " She whirled away from him and stormed back to the entryway of the mansion, head held high in the air and heels sharply clicking against the marble tiles.

"Why, you ungrateful little..."

She was already out the door before he could finish, sending it crashing behind her. Several leaves fell off one of the plants that sat by the front door, and the house creaked on its foundation. With a loud groan, Frederick fell back into the recliner and ran a hand through his grey hair. He briefly wondered if everything would be resolved faster if Phillip de Chagny did head back to the states. His younger brother was likely dead by now, along with the little blonde dame that had also gone missing.

Once Phillip died, though, he would be next in line. After the "c" came the "o." Frederick Oliver sighed. He would need more manpower. An annoyed expression twisted his mouth as he thought of his boisterous niece. _And three bloody bodyguards._

* * *

The next several days continued in an oddly predictable pattern, devoid of terror but thickly laced with unnerving uncertainty. When Christine was not in her room reading or lost in thought, she was down in the dining room, absorbed in music. Each evening began with various warmups, some familiar and others not. Still, all the techniques were helpful, many of them doing almost wonders for her neglected voice. Strong criticism came from the masked man during these times, although it was always over her singing and never personal. He made no mention of her fiancé, never attempting to pry information from her. Each session contained music and music alone. 

Pitch and range were frequently a problem, although each was a little better every day. During one of their more recent lessons, Christine had timidly asked about her timbre, to which he had curtly replied that her timbre was where much of her gift lay. The entire experience was odd, and she didn't dwell on it often. The shadow who had torn her life away, who had almost killed her, who had threatened to kill her fiancé..._he_ was returning her voice to her. Sometimes she felt almost guilty about enjoying the vocal lessons, for when the fear was forgotten, she did love hearing her voice ringing out into the air. And how was it possible to hate someone and be grateful to him at the same time?

She didn't like to think about it.

After each lesson, she attempted to get in a brief word with her fiancé, continuously wanting to be reassured of his health. He always sounded weak but not critically ill. Christine could only assume that at least some effort was being put into keeping him alive.

"I heard you downstairs," Raoul stated on one later occasion. "You sounded really good. Amazing."

She smiled. "Thank you. I haven't sung like that in a while. He says that I should improve quickly, although my range is still..."

"And you still haven't figured out why?" he softly interrupted, perhaps knowing that their time would be limited.

"Why what?"

"Why he's teaching you to sing."

Christine hesitated. "Maybe he just likes my voice," was her quiet reply. "I don't dare ask him. It's just something he wants to do."

"Just be careful," he reiterated. "There's something...not right about this."

Nadir had come, and that was the end of the conversation.

She occasionally received various items from Mr. Khan, another piece of clothing or a set of washcloths, even a chocolate bar once. He was always a bit awkward about bringing them up to her, although Christine always showed her full appreciation. It was only one week later, though, that she experienced several revelations. Over a week into her captivity, she was met with a frightening evening.

Nadir had just set down another parcel by her door, before exiting the room. She quickly knelt down and perused through the small bag, smiling as she found a pair of cloth slippers. Ever since she had slipped out of her sandals to run from Nadir on that fateful evening, she had been barefoot. Her feet had occasionally grown numb from walking on the frigid wooden floor, and a small blister had formed on her toe. Fondly, she touched the soft material with her fingertips. Looking down again, she noticed that several sheets of paper accompanied the gift. Christine curiously removed them, her eyes widening in surprise. It was music.

The piece was one of Despina's songs from _Così fan tutte_. In messy red handwriting, scribbled in the upper right-hand corner, were the words, "Look over this. We will begin tomorrow." The masked man must have told Nadir to give it to her. _Unless all of this..._ She quickly set the music sheets down. Her eyes gazed over all the things that she had received, as she recalled how strangely Nadir has acted when delivering the items. A nervous lump formed in her throat. _Unless all of it had been from..._

There was no more time to ponder the question. As she sat upon the floor, looking over the music, Christine suddenly heard another door squeak open from down the hallway. Following this sound were the combined voices of Nadir, Raoul, and the bearded man. Christine quickly jumped up and put her ear to the door, feeling her heart begin to pound in fright. She heard Nadir's voice, much more formal than it usually was with her.

"Look, young man," began Nadir. "We need this information immediately. For your own sake, tell us what you know."

"I told you that I don't know anything!" her fiancé exclaimed. "I have no idea what the number of the account is. I didn't memorize it. It's an eight or nine digit number!"

The other man growled something in French, to which Nadir shushed him.

"Do you have any information on it at all?" wearily questioned Mr. Khan to Raoul. "If we find you to be lying, consequences will follow. And not by my hand, either."

"I don't know anything about it!" Frustration was evident in Raoul's voice. Christine closed her eyes and prayed they would leave him alone, refraining from shouting out to them. The door suddenly slammed shut. She heard the bearded man utter a phrase that included her name. Fearfully, Christine stepped away from the door.

"No!" Nadir exclaimed in protest, as the bearded man's footsteps came closer.

"Leave her alone!" she heard Raoul shout from behind his now locked door."She doesn't know anything!"

Christine flew to the other side of her room, looking around for any way to defend herself. Nothing was large or heavy enough. Even the two bulky books wouldn't work. Her heart throbbed as the doorknob suddenly turned, the door opening to reveal the bearded man on the other side. Shoving an angry Nadir away from him, he walked in with his arms outstretched, loudly commanding her to come. His mouth was slightly twisted in amusement.

Christine fearfully shook her head, her back up firmly against the wall. She yelped as his sweaty hand grabbed her slender wrist and began to pull her forward. "No! Please!" she protested, desperately struggling to yank away from him. He dragged her several feet.

Before she could even blink, the bearded man's grip was suddenly wrenched off of her arm, sending a slight twinge of pain into her wrist. He was thrown away from her, his eyes wide with surprise as he flew backwards. A gasp escaped her lips as the shadow entered her vision, the dark form grabbing the bearded man by the throat and holding him up against the wall. The yellow eyes glowed like that of a predator's from behind the black mask. The tenor voice smoothly spoke as the beared man gagged and squirmed in impending suffocation. _"Si tu la touches encore, je te brise le cou." _

The bearded man bobbed his head up and down, frantically struggling to breathe under the deadly grip. After the bony hand finally released his neck, the masked man threw him out of her room, where he landed with a loud thud against the hallway wall. Christine remained frozen, watching and waiting. The yellow eyes gazed at her momentarily, still fiery but unreadable. In a black whirl, the masked figure then left the room. Nadir quickly stepped inside and shut her door, breathing heavily from the short brawl. "Are you hurt?" he questioned.

She slowly shook her head, her eyes still on the door. It took a moment for the shock to leave her. "What...what happened?"

Nadir sighed. "We needed information from your fiancé, although I truly do not think he knew anything. Anyhow, Buquet intended to use you to get your fiancé to talk...threatened to hurt you."

"Oh..." She swallowed, still wide-eyed. "So Buquet is the one with the beard..."

"Yes. Joseph Buquet. I think he would already be dead, if not for the manpower he brings. Nevertheless, he will not come near you again if he values his life."

She paused."What did _he_ say? The...masked man. Just now to Buquet."

Nadir hesitated, before directly translating the phrase. "_If you touch her again, I will break your neck_."

Her face paled a little, but she nodded. Suddenly, she felt very tired. Christine slowly made her way to the cot, nearly ready to collapse from fright. Another question entered her mind. "What is everyone else's name?"she asked after a moment, fingering the thin blanket and looking downwards.

"Darius is the younger one," Nadir replied. "I don't think you have anything to fear from him. He is just bored. I think he will abandon this lifestyle soon."

She waited before speaking again. "And the masked man?"

A silence passed. "His name is not used often. It may be best that you do not know, unless he wishes you to. If it slips from your mouth, he may not be...pleased, to say the least."

"I promise I won't say it out loud. It would just be easier to think..." She sighed. "Never mind."

"To think of him as a human being?" Nadir wryly enquired. She gave no response, almost feeling a little insulted. He started to turn and leave but paused in the doorway. And then he said it, in a voice that was just barely audible. Christine blinked twice, wondering if she'd imagined it until she saw the expression on Nadir's face. She mouthed the word back to him, and he gave her a stern look to keep silent, before finally leaving.

When sleep didn't come, she got up and put on her new slippers, before collecting the sheets of music from the ground. Returning to the cot, she began going over the notes and words in her mind, striving with a sort of ambition that had long ago been buried.


	11. Motivations

Hey guys! Thanks for all the wonderful reviews. I see some more readers from "Threnodies...", and I'm glad you're enjoying this story, too. The next chapter will probably be delayed while I'm gone, but I'll try to get it out within two weeks.

I hope you enjoy this chapter. The second POV took a little extra effort. ;)

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No mention was made of the incident involving Joseph Buquet over the next several days, save for Raoul asking her if she had been injured during the following evening. A slight twinge remained in her wrist, but she made no mention of it, not wanting to worry her fiancé any more than she had to. Christine continued with her voice lessons, and the masked man said nothing of his several seconds as her rescuer. He continued to instruct her, his temperament seeming less frightful with each lesson. She didn't know whether she was simply becoming used to his darker presence, or if he was truly acting with less hostility.

Nadir had delivered a midnight-blue velvet robe to her, along with several more short-sleeved shirts and a hair clip. Looking around her little bedroom, one would have assumed her to be a guest in the house. Neatly folded clothes were stacked on the top of the dresser, and the toiletries were lined up against the wall. She kept her two books in an accessible place by her bedside. Although an impending feeling of doom still occasionally accompanied her, especially during the hours of the night, she at least lived somewhat comfortably. Christine wished there was a way to share the luxuries with her weakened fiancé. Any attempt to do so, though, would likely not end well for either of them. Especially if her suspicions about her benefactor were true.

As the days passed, Nadir no longer led Christine to the dining room, merely unlocking her door every evening and giving her a brief nod. By this time, she was always grateful for the short escape from the confining space, no longer fearing for her life. There was also the anticipation of singing, the hope that she would hit a new note that day or stay within the right key throughout an aria. To be able to strive for something took her mind off everything else. To have someone care if she did well or not, someone who would tell her outright of her successes and failures, was strongly motivating.

She could not have done it alone. She did not have the strength.

For the first time since she had been receiving lessons, the masked man was not in the dining room when she entered that evening. Gnawing at her lip, Christine glanced back toward the closed door, wondering whether she should leave or stay. Noticing several sheets of paper scattered on the dining room table, she curiously walked over and looked down. Lines of musical notes were scribbled on them in dark red ink, along with an occasional word in French or a term in Italian.

She squinted down at the handwritten composition, trying to make some sense of the awkward rhythm and measures. After a moment, the patterns started to come together. Forgetting her surroundings, Christine hummed the first few lines with intrigue. It had a somber sound, likely written in a minor key. The melody was somewhat foreboding and occasionally dissonant, the music never really resolving itself in a way that was pleasing to the ear. The notes would sometimes repeat themselves in almost a drone. At other times they would rapidly jump up and down on the scales, meant to be played quickly and in staccato style. Even with the variety of modern day music available, Christine had never heard anything quite the same.

Suddenly sensing a presence behind her, she whirled around to see the masked man silently standing there with his arms folded. _How long had he been there? _She hadn't even heard the door open. Their eyes were locked for a moment. Christine could feel her hands tremble, fearing he would be angry at her intrusion.

"I told Nadir a half hour later than usual," he tonelessly stated, making no move to come near her.

"I..." She swallowed. "I'm sorry."

The masked man stepped in front of her to the table, and she drew back several feet to her normal position. He quickly gathered up the sheets of music into his hands and aligned the corners with delicate precision. "It was not your doing. You were told to come here."

She nodded, relaxing slightly as she realized that no ill will was held toward her. Christine's eyes traveled back to the music. "Is that...did you write that?" she softly asked.

A long pause followed, his gaze also focused on the sheets in his hands. "I did."

"Oh. It looks difficult. I've never seen anything like it."

He looked down at her with an unreadable expression in his eyes. "It is part of a longer work. An opera. My_ Don Juan Triumphant_. I have been working on it for a decade. Yes...a decade, now." His voice changed slightly, less guarded and more conversational. "I find it to pass the time quickly. Days and nights can go by when I am absorbed in it. "

"An opera?" she softly asked, delving cautiously into the uncharted territory. "What's it about? Are there lyrics?"

He wryly chuckled, although it wasn't necessarily hostile. "It is complicated. And..." He paused. "The meaning has recently been altered, the music significantly revised. There is a story, of course, but it would tell you little of the meaning. There is no way to properly explain it."

Christine was quiet for a moment. "Could you play that part? I'd like to hear it."

"No!" he exclaimed, causing her to shrink back. "No," he repeated more calmly, as though the outburst had been unintentional. "It is for no one but me. It will be buried with me, where no one else can ever lay their eyes upon it. I do not wish to discuss it any longer."

"All right," she gently replied. "I'm sorry. I just...was curious." She was vaguely aware that something had changed in those few moments, though. A flicker of humanity had revealed itself during that odd display of emotions. Of course, it disappeared within another second. He instantly regained his cold composure, again becoming an emotionless shadow as he took out the violin from its velvet-lined case.

"We have wasted enough time now," he abruptly stated. "Let us begin your vocal lesson."

She obediently nodded, although the event lingered in the back of her mind throughout the lesson. After their regular warmups, they went through both Bastienne's and Despina's arias. She was becoming more confident about the former but had difficulty with the latter. Still, after she was finished for the evening, he nodded once toward her. "We are progressing faster than expected. My expectations are rarely so surpassed..."

Christine murmured a thank you of appreciation and left the room. As she passed by Raoul door, she whispered that she was completely exhausted. It was the truth. All energy was lately being put into her voice, into making it better than what it had once been. On one occasion, it occurred to her that she had subconsciously made the choice to wait her captivity out rather than make a feeble attempt to run away. The task of escaping with Raoul seemed no more possible than it had been before. In fact, she had an inner feeling that the masked man would be even more furious under the current circumstances. All remained uncertain, but little could be done.

Luxuries continued to arrive in large numbers. The following day, Nadir delivered a silver hand mirror wrapped in tissue paper and an extra pillow with white lace around the edges. Before he could quickly make his leave, Christine jumped up from the cot and ran over to him. He looked up in surprise, his hand still wrapped around the doorknob. In almost a whisper, she spoke. "All these things that I'm getting. Are they really from you?"

He was silent for a long moment, running a hand through his dark hair before looking her directly in the eye. "No, Christine," he replied with a sigh. "Although I wished your stay to be comfortable here, I could not have gone to such extremes. I could not have afforded it."

"Why...?" she whispered, picking up the mirror and turning the circular frame over in her palm.

Nadir seemed to understand the unfinished question. _Why would he?_ He answered it honestly and with a shrug. "I do not know, Christine. I truly do not know. "

* * *

Where had it begun? Alone in the dining room, he pondered this. 

When the girl had cowered before the lasso on that fateful evening, dirty and bruised and crying, he had chosen to spare her life. The idea of using her as a device to make the boy fully cooperate was logical and well constructed. She was de Chagny's precious jewel...his most prized possession, no doubt. The boy would do anything to ensure her welfare, of this he had been sure. No other intention had crossed his mind that evening. He had not even put any conscious thought into her ultimate fate. It had been a trivial matter, whether the girl lived or died.

He liked to think that he could have easily killed her that night, that had she not been useful to the situation, he would not have thought twice about snapping her delicate little neck bone. It was only her unusual chime-like voice that had intrigued him and made her worth his while. She was no different that an instrument he had perfectly tuned. Her voice, not her, had placed her in a favorable status. This was what he convinced himself of for some time.

But a nagging thought had penetrated his mind over the last week, as he sat up in the still and quiet hours of the night, hunched over his miserable composition. What if, even on that very first evening before he had ever heard her voice, he would not have been able to do away with her? What if it were her essence and not her voice that kept Christine unharmed? He despised this train of thought, storming out of the house and into the thickets of gnarled trees in an attempt to clear his traitorous mind. But it would not go away.

The food, the clothing, the analgesic...all of it was purchased with the conviction that she would only sing to the best of her ability if she were in a state of perfect health. Yes! That was very reasonable! One could not properly use their vocal chords if starving or freezing or in pain. Very reasonable. But... he had gone to the excess! Why the expensive lotions and soaps? And the _wretched_ mirror! He had obtained them as though blind...without reason and purpose, only later wondering why had so mindlessly done so.

And several nights ago, when that pathetic excuse for a human being had entered the girl's room, it had enraged him. It was far beyond the anger he would have experienced over the disturbance of any other piece of artwork he had created. Buquet did not know how close to death he had come for touching her. What grand satisfaction would come from draining the life from that man's eyes! If he did touch her again, Buquet would die. If he even got near her, he would meet death.

His pale, bony hand curled into a fist atop the dining room table.

He hated the fact that he had cared. Had she been an impersonal project, he would have merely been angry over Buquet's refusal to obey authority. But to see his grip on her delicate wrist had placed him into a state of rage that teetered close to the edge of his sanity. It had been some time since he had fallen into madness. Many long years, now. So far into this mission, he had remained in control, all his moves perfectly calculated. For practical purposes alone, it needed to stay that way.

The most logical path would be to cease the lessons...to keep her locked in her room and out of his sight. That would solve everything, wouldn't it? It would end all of this, put everything back into place. Put the focus on his mission and away from that intrusive girl.

There was suddenly a noise behind him, the door to the dining room creaking opening. Merely from the footsteps he knew who it was, an ability he'd always possessed.

"Should I bring her down now, sir?" came the hesitant voice of Nadir Khan. Had any other man possessed as much knowledge as Mr. Khan, he would be dead. Nadir was alive.

He stared down at his crimson composition in silence. He could say 'no.' _Do not ever bring her down here again. I have no use for her any longer. She is irrelevant. She is nothing. _"Yes. Bring her to me now." He did not turn around.

"Of course." There was a pause. "Are you well today? The air in here can be stale. Even my lungs are..."

"I am currently in perfect health, Nadir," he harshly interrupted, clenching his hands in annoyance. "And if I were not, it would be an auspicious occasion. Now bring her."

"Of course." The footsteps faded away, and the door closed.

Nadir. Had it not been for Nadir Khan, he would have possibly gone his entire life thinking that the sun's rays were deadly to his skin. Nine years of his childhood had passed with that false belief, his mother constantly panicking and keeping every shade in the house closed, then trembling because _he_ was the only thing left with her in the dark.

His poor, unhappy mother. It had not been her fault...not that belief...not really. Raised in the countryside on folklore and superstition, she was pathetically gullible. It was a rather clever ploy by _them_, sending an official letter that informed her that her deformed son was also literally allergic to sunlight. With the face of a cadaver and the propensity to melt in the daytime, he would be forced to hide in the darkness for eternity. Perhaps they believed he would die from a lack of vitamin D sooner or later. Or perhaps just rot away into oblivion.

But Nadir had changed that. For this and many other reasons, Mr. Khan was alive and would likely stay that way. Likely.

Nadir was the first person he had visited after ten years in supposed solitary confinement, where he had spent the latter part of his life. Strange. Very strange. He remembered little of escaping...just the deafening crack of many necks snapping...the glint of terror in the eyes of guards as the rope swept over them, the flashing of bright lights and the occasional echo of a gunshot. It was a pity he didn't remember, lost to a frantic madness like a trapped animal. It had really been quite the feat. Half-starved and with severely atrophied muscles, he had singlehandedly left behind a long trail of bodies. But he did not clearly remember that night of freedom. His mind had completely left him. Then again, perhaps it had been a feat that was only accomplishable without sanity. How much of the world had been altered by the minds of insane men? Much of it, he thought.

The door again opened behind him, softer footsteps following this time. His shoulder muscles tensed. He could feel those two blue eyes watching him, always wide with fear and uncertainty. He'd learned to inspire terror long ago, always to his great advantage. And yet, he was beginning to tire of that particular emotion in the girl's eyes.

He turned to face his pupil. She watched him quietly and expectantly. The last lesson was the only time she'd spoken first, enquiring about his masterpiece. Nadir was the only other being who knew of its existence, and yet _he_ had shortly engaged in the conversation with her. Perhaps because she was the first to ever show interest.

She was dressed in one of her newly purchased outfits, and her hair was neatly brushed and washed. Indeed, it was a great improvement from when she had first arrived with torn and dirty clothing. The better state of health had revealed itself in her voice over the last week. Gone was the weak tremble, slowing being replaced by a strong and powerful timbre that would make many professionals envious. His project was turning out more successful that he had ever imagined. It had been so long since he had created something of such value and grace...all in the voice of Christine Daae. Yes. That was why he continued to bring her down here despite his better judgement. That was why. These short moments in the dining room, hearing his creation...watching her, were invigorating. And somehow pacifying at the same time.

Without another word, he took out the antique violin and began their familiar set of warmups. Her range grew every day. The texture was smooth as he played legato style and carefully concentrated on her pitch. He often wondered how far she could go. He could picture her wrapped within the spotlights of the stage, stunning masses with her natural instrument. By even the brutal standards of society, she was visually appealing. Her face could even be considered an asset. She could have had everything and anything...if not for her engagement to that...that...

_But it could be a very short-lived engagement as things now currently stood..._

He came down too hard upon a string, sending a sharp and unpleasant squeal into the air. Christine jumped and stopped singing. It was the first error she had likely ever heard from the instrument, and she was looking at him as though he had just yelled at her. "The strings need to be tightened," he stated through clenched teeth, quickly gathering his composure. She just rapidly nodded. "That is enough of warmups, anyhow. Let us begin with Despina's aria now. "

"All right." There was the slightest tinge of enthusisasm in her voice. "I've been looking over it in my spare time."

_Yes. She desired to improve as he desired her to. _"Very good, then. We will examine your progress."

He began to play again, carefully concentrating on the melody and keeping his mind away from those thoughts that angered him. She started out decently, but her voice wavered later in the song, particularly during the crescendos. At one point, her voice became completely flat. The piece was not too difficult, though. No. It just required complete focus. "No, Christine," he stated after the fourth time, keeping a calm tone. "Concentrate. Listen to the violin. To each note."

"I am," she replied. "I'm sorry." A frown twisted her mouth. "I just...can't get it. This is harder than most of what I've sung before. I'm sorry."

He turned away from her, spinning a new idea around in his mind. It would be dangerous to do it. Yet...it would also serve a greater purpose. He did want to see her reaction; even he could not deny that. But it would have a purpose, he convinced himself. The idea became firmly set in his mind, shoving all his doubts away. Yes. He would do it. He turned to look at her again. "I will demonstrate how it is to be sung. Listen." She appeared surprised but quickly nodded, blatant curiosity in her eyes. _A grotesque thing such as yourself can sing?_

_Indeed it can_.

He sang several lines in a lower octave with little effort, just loud enough to send his astounding tenor voice throughout all the rooms on the first floor. Her reaction was predictable. Her mouth had fallen agape, and her eyes were wide with something other than fear for once. For once, there was no terror. "Repeat," he stated with calmness, as though nothing extraordinary had occurred.

She blinked. "But you can..."

"Did you think I would instruct you had I not some ability myself?" he eagerly enquired, feeling the corners of his malformed lips twitch. "Now repeat."

Eyes still wide with surprise, Christine did as she was told, her voice hesitant at first before growing in strength. She was in tune this time, even at the higher notes, obviously attempting to mimic the perfection of his voice. Several more times that day, he gave a demonstration, always capturing her undivided attention.

The line had been crossed now. At the end of the vocal lesson, he shamelessly indulged her for several minutes with his singing of one of Ferrando's pieces from _Così fan tutte_... flooding her mind with his poisonous voice. But didn't he have the right to sing just like anyone else? The hypnotic quality was certainly not _his_ fault. With this unstable conviction, he continued. She just motionlessly watched him, her eyes slightly glazed over. He could have walked to mere inches in front of her, and she would not have immediately noticed.

"Christine..." He purposefully said her name in a softer volume, not surprised when she didn't respond. He paused, studying her for a moment before speaking again. "The lesson is finished now," he sharply stated. "You may leave."

She blinked several times and stared at him a moment longer. The look of wonder was replaced with the former one of nervous uncertainty, only now it was mixed with confusion. "All right," she replied, taking several steps backward and swallowing. "I'll be back tomorrow." She then turned and left. He could hear her quick footsteps over the floorboards and up the stairs.

He sat down at the table and folded his hands together, absorbing the silence. Within another second, the door opened again. He flinched in annoyance and glanced up. Nadir stepped into the room, his own eyes wide with shock. "Was that you singing...?"

"Obviously!" he snapped. "I was demonstrating a technique. Now leave me."

"But you haven't..."

"I said to get out!" he exclaimed with venom. "Ensure she is not speaking with de Chagny as you are supposed to be doing!" He turned back around, daring Nadir to utter another word.

The sound of retreating footsteps and the abrupt click of the door latch signified that he was alone again. The silence was calming. Retrieving his composition, he began to furiously scribble...note after note...line after line...all in bright red ink.


	12. The Shadow's Paradox

Hey guys! I'm back from Las Vegas. And yes, I did see the new POTO at the Venetian. They also have a store right beside the theater with lots of phantom merchandise. Quiet2885 was a very happy girl. :) Anyway, I'm back now and getting into the story. Although I won't say much, we're coming closer to a critical point. I hope you continue to enjoy! And since everyone seemed to really like it, I will try to include Erik's POV more often.

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Phillip sat at the wooden desk, hunched over and with his forehead resting in his hands. His digital watch beeped twice, signifying that it was now midnight in Beijing. The floors above him were fairly quiet, devoid of the creaking footsteps he heard throughout the day. Only some of the buildings outside remained lighted. He was becoming used to the silence. For the last few weeks, he'd been averaging about three hours of sleep per night. He'd lost over five pounds, his expensive clothing almost baggy on his muscular frame. He was beginning to become a haunted man.

No new notes had come from the kidnappers. Whoever the perpetrators were, they were experts at their line of work. Police were continuing their fruitless search, finding no clues or leads that would give any hint as to where his brother was. The demands of the original note remained unchanged. To have any chance at saving his younger sibling, he would have to go back to the United States.

Here he was, though, still hiding in China like a coward. What would his father think of him now? It had dawned on him earlier that his brother and future sister-in-law were possibly dead by this time, and he felt immediate self-loathing at his refusal to take any actions over the last weeks. At the same time, he panicked at the thought that they could still be alive...that only his absence was keeping them alive. He'd wired money over to the country several times but received no response. _They _wanted his life. Money was just a side issue, an excuse.

He had been young when he'd made the mistake that had brought him to this dire situation. Too young to be responsible for making such a decision, really. On his canopied deathbed, his father had given him direct instructions. _Here is a list, Phillip. It is...some of my reparations to those we have wronged. It will never be enough for some of them...but it is all I have to offer. Maybe it will prevent more lives from being lost. I will put it into my will. You will act as executor for me? _Phillip had nodded, distractedly combing over some other statements._ Very good. And take care of your brother, too. _

His father had died that very night from the effects of a stroke, mere hours later, before the statement had ever gotten into the will. Even the doctors were surprised by how quickly death had come to the troubled man. Although not legally obligated, Phillip had started to carry out the instructions anyway, unsure of exactly who was getting paid but wanting to adhere to his father's wishes. It was a lot of the estate to distribute, but he didn't think it would bankrupt the company.

Only a day later, though, two phone calls had come. One from Frederick Oliver and another from James Lawrence. Obviously allied on the matter, they had both told him to refrain from distributing the wealth outside of his family...that his father had given him the strange orders when he was ill and not in his right mind. If such matters were to become public, they might all be exposed and their locations would be given away. Only in his early twenties, Phillip still had no idea as to what was occurring. Frankly, he was more concerned with going out at night to parties and exclusive clubs, mingling with his friends and beautiful women, celebrating his youth and good looks. He wanted to enjoy life, not worry about complicated documents and lawsuits. As a result, he had left all matters to Frederick and James, signing papers whenever they had wanted him to. For a while, everything was running smoothly, his family living well off his father's estate.

Looking back, Phillip wondered if it all could have ended right there. If he had distributed that money as his father had requested, had followed all those orders, perhaps wrongs could have been righted. Perhaps his brother would still be safe, and he would be the one running the company without any worries.

On the other hand, why should he feel guilty for anything? It wasn't his fault that his father had messed up. He hadn't known anything.

But...it didn't matter whose fault it was now. His brother was gone. If anyone was truly innocent in all this chaos, it was his younger sibling. That much was true. Phillip hesitated and stared into the dark distance, feeling guilt gnaw at his insides. He felt almost defeated as he slowly picked up the telephone receiver and began punching in a long number. Each hollow beep sounded ominous. But there was no way he could stay here any longer.

He was going home.

* * *

Christine merely watched in quiet awe as her masked instructor demonstrated another line of Despina's piece in a lower octave. It was the second day that he had chosen to sing for her, and she was still in a slight state of shock from the revelation. His tenor voice was simply beyond amazing, entrancing and utterly perfect in every way. The natural instrument surpassed any professional that she had ever heard upon the stage. She wasn't able to even think of her surroundings or shady company when _he_ was singing; she couldn't think of it. Her mind was almost swept away from her in the swirl of notes, her head still filled with his voice when she had gone to bed the previous night. Only when he spoke to her, did she return to earth and the darker reality of her current situation. The piercing yellow eyes stared down at her. 

"Repeat," he stated, nodding at her one time.

Christine reluctantly opened her mouth and began to sing, wondering how terribly she must sound in comparison to him. In her own mind, she sounded like a screeching bird after hearing such perfection. Still, he didn't seem displeased when she had finished. "You are improving significantly," he stated. "Within time, we will be able to move toward pieces designed for a coloratura. Yes...we will arrive there soon. But perhaps that is enough for today."

"Thank you." She paused, wringing her hands together. "It helps a lot...when you demonstrate."

The eyes seemed to glimmer, as if he was quite aware of the effect that his voice had. "Then I will continue to do so, Christine. All you must do is ask."

She started to turn and walk toward the door, stopping when she halfway there. "Could you..." Her voice tapered off. She suddenly felt ridiculous, diverting her eyes toward the floor. And yet, it was impossible to keep from asking. "Could you sing what you did yesterday...at the end of the lesson?"

"I take that you enjoyed it?" There was a strange tone in his voice. It almost sounded...hopeful.

"Yes," she murmured. "I really did."

"Then I will oblige." He sang the piece from _Così fan tutte _for her again, adding a few extra embellishments here and there. She sighed as she listened, allowing herself to daydream for a few moments of times long passed. _God, there was nothing in the world likes this voice..._. The song seemed to end too soon, and her peaceful smile became a disappointed frown. "That is all for now," he stated in a softer tone, always watching her. "You should leave."

There was something odd about the way he made the last statement, as if there was a danger in staying any longer. A hidden and uncertain danger. Christine quickly nodded and made her way out of the room and up the stairs, still feeling a little ungrounded. Nadir followed closely behind her, and so she made no move to speak to Raoul.

"I don't understand." The words were said more to herself than to Mr. Khan.

"You don't understand what?" Nadir enquired, glancing up as he set some clean towels upon the dresser.

Christine sat on the cot with her arms folded and her puzzled gaze focused on the floor. Her mouth was still set in a small frown as she thought of her previous lesson, although she was now feeling less lightheaded. How could a voice like that come from such a shadowy, frightening figure? She paused, trying to put her thoughts into words. "Why would someone who could sing like that...who can play the violin like that...why would they live like this? He could be famous."

Nadir sighed and stood up straight. He softly shut the door to the room. "There are many things you do not know, Ms. Daae. It is very complicated. Trust me when I say that he was never offered much normalcy in his life. I do not know if he could even comprehend the idea of a legitimate place in society."

"Why does he wear a mask?" She looked him directly in the eye. "Is he a famous criminal? Does he have to hide his identity? Why here, though?"

A very troubled look distorted Nadir's face, and his eyes became cautious. He took a step backward, as though to avoid the conversation, rubbing his palm over his forehead and through his dark hair in distress. "A famous criminal? Maybe in some places. That is certainly not the reason for the mask, though. I..." He shook his head. "It is not good to speak of such things here."

"Just tell me that." Her voice grew stronger, her eyes filled with shining curiosity. "I won't ask anything else. Why would someone who can sing like...well...absolutely perfectly...why would they hide like this?"

Nadir sighed again, gazing to the floor with a saddened expression. "Christine..." he wearily whispered, leaning in slightly and keeping an eye upon the door. "He wears a mask because his entire face is monstrous. It has been utterly deformed since birth. I am a grown man who has seen many horrors in this lifetime, and I would not want to be exposed to it for more than a second."

"But it can't be..."

"It is that bad," he interrupted.

"Aren't there..." She paused, her eyes narrowed in distress. "I mean...there are surgeries now. All kinds of things like that."

"His face may be beyond modern medicine, Ms. Daae. Maybe not. But at the time of his childhood, there was little that could be done. And he...would never allow anyone near him now. Certainly not near his face. He'd sooner kill them. He despises human contact. Conveniently, no one ever offers it to him."

"Why does he hate contact?" she whispered, feeling a sharp pang in her chest. "Is it because of his face?" It had been easier to think of him as a soulless and emotionless shadow. Over the past weeks, though, she had come to realize that a human being lay behind the porcelain mask and dark clothing. There was something almost painful about the epiphany, especially with Nadir's somber explanation...and knowing that the masked man was capable of beauty.

Nadir closed his eyes. "For one, he received little contact as a child. But no, that is not the reason for his current demeanor. The real reason...is something neither of us know, Ms. Daae. Except..." He paused.

"Except for what?" She held her breath.

"He was in a prison for some time. What happened there...I do not think either of us wishes to know, Christine. I would suggest pushing it from your young mind. My advice is to survive these next days or weeks...and then forget all of this as best you can. Do not cloud your head with any more terror."

The hollow feeling remained in her chest and slowly began to creep down toward her stomach. Perhaps it was pity. "What should I do?" she asked, not even quite knowing what she was referring to.

Nadir smiled sadly. "Do as you are doing. It seems to be working out for you." He gestured toward all the clothing and luxury items that decorated her room. He paused. "Did you know that he has not sung in decades?"

"I would never have guessed," she softly replied. The conversation had ended there.

Christine didn't sleep well that night. It wasn't fear that kept her awake this time, more of a nagging anxiety and a troubling feeling that continued to churn in the pit of her stomach. Nadir's words played repeatedly in her mind. And now, she wondered what horror was under that porcelain mask. How awful could it possibly be? She attempted to form a terrible image in her mind and came out with red scars and bumpy flesh, like that of some of the burn victims she had seen on television. She tossed and turned for most of the darker hours, her mind attempting to piece together the mystery. Of course, there was still so much that remained unknown.

Her fatigue showed the following day, especially during her vocal lesson, yawns constantly emerging from the back of her throat. She also couldn't help but cast curious glances toward the mask, constantly wondering what lay beneath it. Only when her instructor sang could she forget everything, his voice repressing all of her other thoughts. When he was silent, though, the exhaustion returned.

As her own voice became completely flat during the more familiar aria, her instructor stopped playing the violin. "What is wrong with you today?" he asked, slight annoyance in his tone. "This is far below your usual standards. Are you not concentrating?"

"I'm sorry," she softly replied, casting her gaze toward the floorboards. She found herself almost emotionally wounded whenever he became disappointed in her. "I think I'm just tired." An unintentional sigh escaped her lips.

He studied her in silence for a moment. "You are very pale. Are you ill?"

She was put at slight ease by what sounded like concern in his voice. "No. I don't think so. Just tired."

Another silence passed, his yellow eyes drifting away from her momentarily as though he were in thought. "Perhaps..." he slowly began, carefully setting the instrument onto the table. "Perhaps a moment of fresh air would improve your condition."

She quickly looked up in surprise. "What?"

"A few minutes outside, if you wish it. Perhaps you have breathed this dank air too long. You are not used to such conditions, I would imagine. It might improve your singing, as well."

Christine was momentarily speechless, feeling her heart give a little jump of delight. "Yes...I would like that. Thank you!"

"You do understand that attempting escape would be pointless and inane?" The question was calm.

"Of course," she quickly replied. "I won't. I just want to go out."

He nodded. "Then you shall, Ms. Daae." No one else was around as he silently led her toward the back door of the house. She eagerly attempted to keep up with his smooth, quick stride, her eyes lighting up as she saw the green terrain behind the glass of the arched window. The masked man twisted the silver knob and opened the door to the outside, before stepping to the side and allowing her to pass. Christine slowly walked forward and into the warm spring weather, inhaling a fresh breath of pine-scented air. Used to the dim house, she squinted in the descending sun, stepping into a patch of yellow light that had managed to seep through the tall oak trees. A soft breeze swept through the air, blowing strands of blonde hair into her face. It was heaven.

Looking behind her, Christine saw with some surprise that the door had shut and that she was alone. Behind the dusty window, she could vaguely make out the dark silhouette of her instructor. He was watching her as he always did. She nodded once toward him in a sort of gratitude, before turning away and looking off into the distance. There would be no escape, of course. Raoul would be doomed by such actions, and it was impossible anyway. Strangely, she didn't even feel the need to run at that moment...just to rest and enjoy her surroundings. She sat down upon the damp, mossy ground and leaned against one of the smoother tree trunks. As the sun touched her face, she could practically feel the color returning to her cheeks.

Closing her eyes, Christine just sat there for several moments, relishing the fresh air and distant sounds of birds and insects. She opened her lids and looked to the window again. He was still standing there. Perhaps he thought she would try to run, despite his warning. Or did he just enjoy watching her?

Whenever she dwelt on the matter long enough, she became confused. Her instructor had been so cold and cruel at first that she almost thought of him as subhuman in the beginning, as he draped the swinging noose in front of her face. A demon, almost. But how quickly everything had changed. He still frightened her, and she had no doubt that he had committed some terrible atrocities. At the same time, he was most definitely human. And anything with a voice like that couldn't be pure evil. Anyone who would allow her into the sunlight had some goodness in them. He had a soul. She couldn't hate him any longer. She didn't know what she felt, but it wasn't hate.

The shadow disappeared from the window, and the back door soon opened slightly. She quickly arose from her spot by the tree and walked over to the entrance, feeling warmed enough to go back inside. There was little daylight left, anyway.

"Did that improve your state of health?" She heard his voice before she had entered the dimness.

She smiled genuinely, coming inside and blinking as her eyes adjusted. "Yes. It did. Thank you."

He nodded in approval, his hands folded behind his back. His eyes seemed calmer than they normally did. "That will be all for today, then. Sleep tonight so that you are properly prepared to sing tomorrow. I do not want us to fall behind. Not now. It is a critical time in your lessons. Rest is important."

She quickly nodded. "I will!" Her eyes hovered on the black mask a moment longer, and the yellow eyes merely stared back. Swallowing her curiosity, she turned and left the room, making her way up the wooden steps. Her still face tingled from the unfamiliar sensation of the sun's rays. Her arms and hands were warmer than they had been in some time. She wondered if she could convince him to let her outside more often. It had certainly given her a renewed energy. And why shouldn't it? People generally thrived on sunlight.

Not seeing Nadir anywhere nearby, Christine stopped by her fiance's door and softly spoke. It had been several days since she had gotten the chance to do so, as Mr. Khan had been slightly more vigilant than usual.

"Raoul?" she whispered, brushing her hair aside and putting her ear to the door. There was no answer, only silence on the other side. "Raoul?" she asked again, slightly increasing her volume. Her heart pounded with worry for a moment. She lightly rapped her fist against the wood. "Raoul?"

Finally, she heard the patter of slow footsteps, and relief came over her. "Christine?" came a raspy voice.

Her eyes widened with concern. "Yeah! It's me. Are you all right?"

"Yeah. I'm okay," was his weak reply. "Just..." He coughed twice. "A cold or something. I've been sleeping a lot."

Her mouth twisted with worry, and her brow furrowed. He was too weak to be getting sick. "Are you sure your okay? What's wrong?"

"Yeah," he quietly replied, his voice strained. "Just a cough. A sore throat. How are you?"

She placed her right palm against the door. An unpleasant sensation was building. "I'm fine." She didn't dare tell him how well she had been treated. In fact, she almost felt guilty over how well her situation was. Her time there had been comfortable. She had been treated with kindness and hospitality. At some times, she forgot that she was even a captive. But poor Raoul..."I'm just worried about you. Don't worry about me."

"I'm fine, Christine. Just...really tired." She could tell that he was not fine.

Slowly, she backed away from the door, attempting to think of some plan of action. "Give me a moment," she whispered, turning around to see Nadir slowly coming up the steps. Without a second's hesitation, Christine ran toward him. He looked at her curiously, perhaps disturbed by the concern in her eyes. "Raoul is sick," she said, softly. "It's too cold in there. Can't something be done? I'm afraid he's going to get worse."

Nadir hesitated and gave her a glance of sympathy. "That is not in my hands, Christine."

"But can't you just..." Her plea was cut short.

"No," he replied. "If _he _were to find out, the anger would be taken out on your fiancé. It would only make things worse for everyone."

Christine drew away from him, gnawing at her lip for a moment in thought. Nadir motioned with one hand for her to come to her room, but she shook her head and backed away. "Then I'll ask him." Without another word, she dashed down the stairs, leaving Nadir with a stunned look. She heard him begin to follow behind her, his footsteps rapid.

"No, Christine. Get back here now!" She ignored the command, continuing forward with determination.

She knew that what she was doing was dangerous. But she had to try! Raoul was going to die in there without proper treatment, without proper nutrition. Her heart pounded in fear and in hope. The masked man had shown her great kindness. He had! Perhaps he would understand. Perhaps she could convince him to have mercy. Inhaling deeply, she knocked on the dining room door.

"What are you doing?" questioned Nadir, reaching out for her. "You know not what you do!" She shook her head at him and dodged his grasp.

"What?" snapped a cold voice from inside the dining room.

Her eyes widened in anxiety at the tone, but she forced herself to speak. "It's me. It's Christine."

A long pause followed. "You may come in." The voice had slightly less malice. The eyes gazed over at her curiously as she opened the door and entered. "What do you need, Christine?"

She swallowed, forcing herself to look up at him. Her hands nervously clenched into fists. Nadir had remained outside of the room, no doubt fretting over her actions. She took a deep breath. "Raoul...is sick," she shakily stated. "He needs medicine...or blankets...or anything...I..." She flinched as the masked man suddenly stood up to his full daunting height. The eyes seemed to flare at her. Christine closed her mouth and took an unsteady step backward.

"And what concern of mine is this?" he questioned, a snarl in his voice.

She trembled but attempted to remain composed. "You...you could give him something! Please..."

An icy chuckle came from behind the mask, sending an awful shiver down her spine. She realized that her bravery had been in vain. Her hopes had been false. The deadly shadow had returned. "His welfare is no matter of mine, Ms. Daae. What compelled you to ask me such things? What made you think I would possibly care about your fiance's well being?"

"Because you helped me," she whispered, her heart pounding. "You've given me things..."

"Your health is necessary for your voice!" he snapped, his fingers curling into claws. "That boy has no purpose except to be here. He is a means to my end! Nothing more!"

The corners of her lips turned downward. She could feel her eyes well up with salty tears. The despair of earlier returned, and she again felt helpless and out of control. "You're still going to kill him, aren't you?" she sickly murmured. "Why? He hasn't done anything."

He held up a hand to silence her. "Leave, Christine. You are testing my patience."

She started to turn around and leave but looked back toward him. "Are you going to kill me, too?" she asked, her voice just above a whisper.

Her instructor's head snapped up. As he walked closer and towered over her, she shrunk back into the wall. "After all that has occurred, you would still ask me that?" he enquired, his voice frighteningly malicious. "Oh, but why not? I am nothing but a monster. Only capable of demonic acts! Yes, we both know this, don't we?" His eyes changed...a strange and awful medley of hatred and pain and desperation. "Yes! I should spend long hours of my time returning your voice to you, only to do away with you in the end. All for my pleasure! You would probably be satisfied if I did do such things. At least it would confirm your beliefs of what I am before you died!"

She pressed herself up harder against the wall, feeling the wood dig into her shoulder blades. "No." Her voice trembled. She never should have asked that last question. "No. Please. I just wanted you to help him."

His bony hands came forward as if to pin her shoulders but hovered in midair. They then closed into tight fists and jerked away from her. His looming frame seemed to shake as he backed up with a tortured sigh, his thin shoulders heaving with deep breaths. With his fingers still clenched, her instructor turned around and stalked away from her. He placed his two hands on the edge of the dining room table, leaning against it and staring down with his back toward her."Get out!" he hissed. "Now!" Christine just stared for a moment. "I said to leave me!" he roared.

She immediately obeyed this time, flying out of the room and racing up the stairs. Running straight passed Raoul's room, she flung herself onto her cot and began to heave with sobs, still shaking from fright. She was only vaguely away of Nadir coming up behind her.

"It is not your fault," he quietly told her. "It is...simply the way things are." There was a short pause, her soft cries the only sound in the room. "But..." Christine looked up through her tears and saw his dark eyes narrow in anger. "Perhaps I will speak to him."

She just watched as he left, before burying her face into the folds of her pillow.


	13. The Storm

Hey guys! Thanks for the awesome reviews. You guys are really insightful and inspiring. To those who asked about it, POTO in Las Vegas is great. My only disappointment was that they cut some parts out to make it shorter. Sometimes it feels like the show is in fast forward. But overall, it was great.

Well, this chapter is a bit slow. The next one, however, should be fairly interesting. I hope everyone continues to enjoy!

**Read and Review!**

Nadir slowly walked down the wooden stairs with his hand on the railing, mentally preparing himself for the confrontation that he was about to initiate. Each step creaked beneath his weight, sounding somewhat eerie in the otherwise silent house. Buquet and Darius were nowhere to be seen, likely out smoking a cigarette in the woods or sneaking off to one of the secluded convenient stores that lined the older roads. He only prayed that the locals were too ignorant to become suspicious. For the time being, though, the police had kept their search limited to the more populated city and Chicago suburbs.

He cleared his throat as he reached the bottom, before making his way to the closed door of the dining room. For the last week, he'd been continuously troubled over the progression of events that were taking place within the house. His masked companion was frequently distracted and even more reclusive than usual. He rarely came out of the room to check on the status of the situation with the elder de Chagny, only asking Nadir for brief updates. Of course, nothing of significance had occurred so far, but there was still the slight absence of leadership that disturbed Nadir.

It somehow had to do with the girl, he knew. She was the recipient of all the gifts, having more luxuries than anyone else who resided there. How his masked friend had managed to procure them remained a mystery, but, then again, he was generally capable of obtaining whatever he wanted. Ms. Daae spent more time with the masked man than anyone else, frequenting that room for at least an hour every day. _He_ had even chosen to sing to her after years of silence. The strangeness of the affair was obvious enough for even Buquet to notice. "Do you think she would still go in there, if she knew what was behind the mask?" he'd snidely enquired the other day. "I would wager a hundred dollars that she'd sooner jump off a cliff than have to see that face. That is...if I had a hundred dollars." He'd laughed crudely.

Nadir had remained quiet on the matter so far, as he had done throughout the entire mission. The masked man was clearly in charge, had deemed himself in complete control from the beginning. If anyone acted insubordinate, at best they would be left behind, and at worst they would meet the fatal grip of the lasso. Even Nadir was not protected from this fate, and so he had followed orders to avoid both death and abandonment. Although he refused to admit it to himself, the masked man was perhaps the closest thing he had to a friend in the world. If you could call it friendship.

So far, his companion had been extremely effective at reaching each goal. No one dared to question him on his choices. Why question perfection? But...this was a different matter, and Nadir could keep silent no longer. What was occurring in that dining room had nothing to do with the mission. He had the feeling that it went beyond a mere musical project, that the girl was valued for more than just her voice. She was being treated far too well. In the heated exchange that had just occurred between the masked man and the girl, he could hear a strange note in that cold voice. A note of weakness that had not been there before.

He took a deep breath, before loudly knocking on the dining room door. "It is me," he stated, with slight more authority than he was accustomed to using. "I just wish to have a short discussion with you."

"I do not wish to be disturbed right now!" growled the voice on the other side. "Leave me."

He had been fully expecting that response. "Just a moment of your time," he continued. "To discuss...the mission."

He received no immediate answer this time. Gathering his nerves, he placed his had upon the knob and slowly opened the door before his companion could make another violent protest. The masked man was seated at the head of the table with his back facing the entrance. His arm suddenly flinched as the door squeaked open, and Nadir started to back away in anticipation of a possible attack. He then realized that the black mask had been laying upon the table. His companion had quickly swiped it up with a bony hand and was tying it back onto his face.

The masked man faced him now, eyes flaring viciously. "I said to leave me in peace, Nadir! You are walking a very fine line with your persistence! I am in no mood to deal with you today."

Nadir managed to hold his ground, perhaps because there was still that note of desperation. "We need to discuss the girl before something regrettable occurs. I am...confused by your intentions with her...as she pertains to the overall mission."

He received another glare. "That is very much none of your concern. It is quite obvious that she has absolutely nothing to do with the mission. Nothing! Now get out...before I force you out!" His emaciated shoulders heaved up and down with deep breaths. A slight raspy sound could be heard with each inhalation, like a suppressed cough.

Nadir clenched his jaw, before softly continuing. "But if she is not important to the mission...if her presence angers you, then why not permit her to remain in her room? Why frighten her constantly? She is going to have a mental breakdown, which...I do not think you want to happen. I assume you intend to allow her to live. Am I wrong?"

A tense silence passed. "She should not have asked about the boy," he stated between deep breaths, suddenly turning away. "All was fine until she enquired on his state of health."

Nadir nodded, feeling slight relief that he had gotten a response. "Perhaps she shouldn't have. I did warn her not to. But...he is her fiancé. Of course she is concerned with his life and health. It is only natural." He didn't even think when he uttered the last sentence. "She loves him."

The hands clenched, and the bony fingers grew gnarled and twisted. The masked man straightened to his full height, his shoulders back, and a darker aura surrounding his looming form. "Perhaps it is best, then, that we apprehended them before they had wed..." he began in a disturbingly calm voice. "Otherwise she would have ended up as a rather young widow."

Nadir had never heard more hate in a phrase. "Yes," he murmured, showing no reaction. "I suppose...that is one way of looking at it. She will still be devastated, I imagine."

"She will recover from it," he replied in an icy voice. "She will move on to better things. Because she is very capable. No...she does not know it yet...but she will survive the death of that boy."

"Mm." Nadir paused, not knowing how to respond. Maybe it was best to move the topic away from the girl. Noticing his companion's heaving shoulders, he changed the subject. "You are in bad health today? I notice your breathing..."

"Cease asking me about that!" he snapped. "It is my concern alone. Do you understand?"

"Yes. I do understand. But...they do have procedures and medicines that..."

The masked man interrupted him with a nasty chuckle. "I certainly hope I am in poor health, Nadir. When all of this ends, I plan to lie down in a coffin and die...my masterpiece as my only companion. If any soul dare attempted to prolong my existence, I would gladly strangle the life from their lungs." He gave Nadir a warning look, including him in this statement. "Leave me! Now! "

"Fine. I will go." Nadir sighed, feeling as though he had gotten nowhere in that conversation. He had managed to hold his ground fairly well, though. "I...assume you don't want me to bring her down here tomorrow?"

A silence passed. "No. She is to come as she always does. I have said no different, have I?"

Nadir clenched his jaw and took a step backwards. "It may take more than a little persuasion...after that last encounter."

The eyes flared at him. "Tell her that there will be severe consequences if she does not come to me!" he hissed. "She has no choice in the matter. She will come! She must!"

And it was at that moment in which Nadir fully understood, perhaps seeing the flicker of something strange and unnamed in those two golden eyes. Maybe he should have realized it earlier, but he had not really believed such a thing to be possible...not after everything that had occurred. "I will bring her then," he quietly replied, shutting the door behind him.

* * *

She came the next day, just as he knew she would. Purely out of fear, no doubt. Perhaps she still thought that he would kill her. _How dare you ask that, Christine? _After all I have done for you, you wretched girl! I have returned your voice to you! I allowed you into the sunlight! And still you stare at me as if I would strangle you at this very moment. _Stop staring at me in such a way! _His breath was suddenly ragged again. 

Her arms were tightly hugged into her chest, and her gaze was focused on the floor. Every so often, she would quickly glance up at him in apprehension, likely still terrified over yesterday's encounter. Her cheeks were puffy and red, her eyes glistening, and he knew that she had been crying. Over the pathetic boy. She should not have asked about de Chagny's health. It had enraged him for reasons that he would not dwell upon.

Still, they could not begin the lesson like this. She could not sing like this. "Christine," he stated, drawing her attention upward. "You really must compose yourself. You are here for a voice lesson as you are every evening. This evening is no different. You will not sing properly if you are in such an emotional state." She just looked up at him, her top lip quivering. He turned away from her, frustration slowly overwhelming him. It took every ounce of control to refrain from screaming at her...commanding her to stop staring at him in such a way. He _hated _that gaze of fear.

"Perhaps," he began. "Perhaps if I begin with a demonstration, it will ease your nerves, no?" The fear in her eyes morphed into uncertainty, and she slowly nodded her head. "Very well, then. I will." And so he used his prized weapon against her mind. He sang for her, watching with satisfaction as her mouth took on a small and peaceful smile. Her shoulders relaxed, and her head tilted to the side as she listened. _Yes, Christine. You see, I will not hurt you. Not now. Just do not ask of _him_. Pretend...pretend he does not exist...just for a moment._

He embellished the ending notes, lifting his voice to almost impossible levels in order to awe and delight her. As he came to the conclusion, his shoulders tensed, for he wondered if the look of pleasure on her face would disappear. His voice faded perfectly into the silence, an unsung note still hovering in the air. The sparkle of bliss did fade from her eyes, but she no longer appeared as though she wanted to run in the other direction. A moment of quiet passed. "Thank you," she vaguely stated, her voice soft and uncertain. "That was...wonderful."

A heavy weight seemed to lift from his chest, allowing breath to come more easily. He had succeeded. "Warmups now?" he questioned with outward calmness. She nodded, quickly straightening her posture and preparing herself. The lesson proceeded as it always did with few words exchanged between them besides talk of vocal technique. She nodded as he spoke to her, absorbing his words with genuine interest. Although a glimmer of distrust remained in those blue eyes, she seemed to let go of her earlier fear. By the end of the lesson, things stood as they had before.

"I will see you tomorrow," he stated at the ending. "We will go over both arias. And perhaps...perhaps we will begin something new soon. Would you enjoy that, Christine?"

She nodded. "Yes. I would like that. I'll see you tomorrow. " Her eyes questioned him, wanting to know exactly what he was...what his intentions were. _I am nothing, Christine. Nothing but a corpse. And a living one at that...Christine..._ She focused on his mask for an unpleasantly long period of time before finally departing.

As she left and softly closed the door behind her, it occurred to him how much she had penetrated his mind. He should force himself never to look at her again. She was like an infection, spreading into his veins. And yet, he could not permanently pull himself away from her...not now. She was his...his momentary peace of mind each day, if he had ever had such a thing. Yes, he had. The violin brought him brief sanity. Music was solace. But not in the same manner that her voice did.

The darkness came quickly, bringing the damp smell of rain and a layer of clouds along with it. He remained within the dining room all evening, in no mood to be around any other living beings. If he as so much had to set eyes on Buquet, he might very well kill the man instantly. After a moment's hesitation, he retrieved the violin as he did on most nights and played an old Catholic hymn, knowing she could hear it...lulling her into a deeper sleep with the legato melody. As the last note faded, he set the bow on the table and placed the instrument back into its case. He stood and listened, hearing no noise outside of the dining room. It was likely nearing midnight. Only he still continued to wander through the house like a ghost.

He stepped out of the dining room and into the empty sitting area. A strong wind had begun to pound and shake the roof and windows, and the faint sound of thunder rumbled in the distance. He walked toward the stairs, each footstep completely silent. Even the wooden steps did not creak when he slowly ascended them.

Was it so very wrong to do what he was about to do? No. No. It couldn't be. There was no harm...no harm. She was covered and sound asleep. And he merely wanted one look at her. A single glance where her face did not show the faintest trace of terror. One moment while she was asleep and at complete peace. One moment when she didn't despise him. The thunder came a little closer, and a light patter of rain droplets was now hitting the roof.

Taking a single silver key that he kept in his suit pocket at all times, he unlocked and opened her bedroom door. Indeed, she was comfortably asleep, ears untouched by the sound of the storm outside. Perhaps his melody was still within her mind. She lay upon her stomach with her face tilted on the pillow in his direction, eyes closed and mouth set in a straight line. Her hair draped over her shoulders and brushed against her cheek, forming a blonde wreath around her face. The thin blanket was pulled up to her shoulders, moving slightly with each shallow breath. In the very faint light that remained, something glimmered on her fingers, which were curled up beside her chin. A diamond ring.

Without reason, he started to reach out his cold fingers to touch her hair but quickly jerked his bony hand away. The ring glimmered again. He backed away from her slowly. _No. This had been a wrong idea..._

As he drew away from her with his hands clenched and his eyes till upon her sleeping form, he was met with a cruel realization. Even after he killed every single one of those who had brought him to this fate, they would still be ultimately victorious in the end. No matter how short their life spans, they had lived luxurious lives, surrounded by mansion walls and doting wives. They would win, if only because their widows and lovers would weep over their graves. No matter how despicable they were, they had been loved.

Oh no... It wouldn't stop him from disposing of those who remained. The slight satisfaction he would get from the look of terror on their faces would be worth enough to break their necks and string them up. But the triumph seemed less sweet now, almost bitter tasting in his mouth. His twisted excuse for lips, thin skin membranes more than lips, curled into a snarl. His hate was enough to drive him to accomplish the task, just as it had always been.

In mere seconds, he was back in the dining room. He snatched the violin case from the table, his bony fingers digging into the black leather. His breath was ragged. At the least...at the very least he had been granted several hours of peace in these weeks. With her. With Christine. _Christine._ But how she would despise him after he killed her fiancé! He could just imagine the look on her face when that boy died, and it was both enthralling and terrible.

And suddenly, he hated Raoul de Chagny more than anyone he had ever hated in his entire life...more than he despised the people who had brought him to his current state...more than those who had granted him this wretched visage...or who had confined him to that prison. He loathed that boy from a very deep corner of his distorted mind. Because the boy had her. Because she would shed tears over him when he died. Because, given the chance, she would run into his arm and flee into the sun without a second glance backward. And even if he were to stalk upstairs at that exact moment and snap de Chagny's neck bone into two jagged pieces...the boy would have still won. Merely because Christine would cry over him. _Christine._

His clawed fingers made a permanent imprint into the leather of the case.

* * *

Setting his two pieces of luggage down at his side, Phillip reached up and tiredly rubbed his eyes with his palms. He deeply inhaled the warmer air, smelling a strange medley of exhaust and foreign vegetation. There was a dull ache in his left shoulder, possibly from sleeping at a strange angle...or from carrying the suitcases down several flights of stairs that morning. Yards away from him was a small, twin-engine jet, painted white with a blue stripe around the middle. The door was open, and a set of carpeted steps had descended to make entrance possible. 

He had not wanted to travel by commercial airline, attempting to keep his name out of the computers and to maintain a low profile. Besides, this more private method of transportation hadn't significantly cut into his funds. He was still a very rich man. Even under ordinary circumstances, he would have considered hiring a private jet. It certainly beat screaming babies and obnoxious passengers.

Nodding goodbye to his driver who has assisted him with the luggage, he walked over and climbed up into the small aircraft, smelling brewed coffee and some kind of cleaning chemical. The pilot and copilot, both Americans, exchanged greetings with him as he boarded and took a seat toward the center. It was designed for up to fifteen people, several sofa-like seats in the back and with plenty of room to walk through the aisles. "Looks like we may be in for some nasty weather," stated the younger pilot with a slight Boston accent. "We'll find a way around it, though."

Phillip just tiredly nodded, stretching out his legs in the fairly spacious area. He looked out the window, seeing the outline of the city in the distance as the orange sun ascended. He'd more or less numbed his mind to what he was doing, never dwelling deeply on what he was getting into. Would he step off the jet, only to be shot in the head by a random attacker? No. Probably not. The other three had been strangled so far, left dangling and displayed for the world to see.

He shuddered and gripped onto the armrests, then chided himself for acting like a child. The engine suddenly roared to life, causing the windows to rattle. He took a deep breath and rested his head back into the leather headrest. "All good back there? Want anything to drink?" asked the pilot, momentarily glancing backward.

"I'm fine. No, thanks. Nothing to drink." Phillip ignored the queasy sensation in his stomach as the jet moved forward. He felt nauseous as it rapidly picked up speed and began to rise off the ground. He looked out the window, watching the grey airport buildings become smaller and smaller. Beijing soon lay sprawled out before him, a mixture of the ancient and the modern. He was leaving his sanctuary.

Wanting to mentally escape his current situation, he closed his eyes and managed to sleep deeply for the first time in several days. Perhaps some of his conscience had lifted from his shoulders now that he was returning home, giving him some peace of mind. Finally, he was taking action.

It seemed like only minutes later when he was awoken from a dreamless doze. Maybe it was longer, though. Hours later, perhaps. Glancing out the window, he saw nothing but the shiny Pacific ocean and white-crested waves. Grey and white clouds covered the sky, passing above and below the circular window, sometimes obscuring the view. As the jet shook and trembled, he realized that it was the turbulence that had awoken him. He subconsciously gripped onto the cold handles of his seat.

The pilot and copilot were involved in a quiet and intense conversation. He stuck his head out into the aisle to see them both focused upon the controls. There was a voice coming from one of the speakers, someone stating degrees of latitude and longitude. Crackling static then intervened, and he could only make out two words. "...wrong turn..."

The lights flickered several times inside the cabin as the jet continued to shake. "Hold on!" exclaimed the captain, turning and noticing Phillip's disturbed expression. "We'll be out of this in just a minute." The copilot uttered a curse.

Suddenly, the elder de Chagny was thrown to the side. Despite his seatbelt, his head slammed against the wall hard enough to make him see several yellow spots. "What the heck is going on up there?" he called, clutching his aching skull. "Where are we?"

"The wind is stronger than we thought," replied the copilot, the slight sound of panic in his composed voice. "We've got..." He was cut off as the jet suddenly lurched before haphazardly flinging forward through the air. Lighting flashed from somewhere outside, illuminating the almost black clouds.

Staring out the window with the wide eyes of a frightened child, Phillip saw the sparkling blanket of blue drawing nearer and nearer. His head felt lighter and fuzzy, the result of the rapidly rising air pressure. And there was a soft glow now, too. Daylight had managed to creep through the clouds, reflecting off the ocean.

No...not daylight. It was still viciously storming. Not daylight

The jet plunged downward. In the back of his mind, Phillip could still hear the pilot trying to get control, desperately talking over the radio. He could not hear the copilot. Then, there was an eerie silence all around him, the jet's engine no longer audible. He understood in those final moments.

This was it. There would be no last stand...no second chance...no salvation or redemption... no nothing. Only half-unconscious, Phillip still realized that this was the end. Not necessarily because he deserved to perish in this way. And not because he was fated to have some dramatic finale. It was simply his time to die.

The jet spiraled downward. A spray of saltwater flew into the air, mingling with the fuel that oozed from the now burning wreckage. The wind blew, and the rain poured down, extinguishing some of the orange flames. A flash of lighting caused the floating scraps of metal to momentarily shine. Of course, no one was around to take witness to this scene.

The papers and television stations would blame the weather and pilot error. The jet had not bypassed the storm as it should have, as any trained pilot would have immediately known to do after looking at a radar. Warnings from the technicians on the ground had not gotten through in time. No...the jet had instead plunged straight into the middle of the whirlwind and storm clouds, as though a ship lured into the rocks by the Sirens' deadly chant. A tragic accident for the Count de Chagny.


	14. The Edge of the Cliff

Thank you for all the wonderful reviews. I love seeing them in my inbox. Although I said that this would be the pivotal chapter, it's going to predominantly be the next one. I needed just a little more development first. With that said, I'll let you start reading.

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Christine's thoughts darted from one place to another, her emotions swirling together chaotically until she no longer knew what to feel or believe. Her mind had never attempted to comprehend something-or someone- that could simultaneously produce such beauty and terror. Sometimes she was near a state of rapture over his magnificent voice, and he was almost kind to her during their lessons together. The music connected them in some strange way, the notes repressing all wrongs in the situation. But his anger was still deadly, and his hatred toward the rest of the world was terrifying, for what if such malevolence were ever directed at her?

Staring at the shadowy man during her next lesson, looking into those two abnormal eyes, she tried to get some feeling for what he was thinking. At the moment, he appeared to be of an even temper, his voice calm and courteous as he critiqued bits and pieces of her singing. Christine found herself relaxing in his presence again, her muscles loosening as she enjoyed the conversation and pleasant timbre of his speaking voice. As long as one topic was avoided, all ran smoothly. Never again, though, would she mention her fiancé in front of this man.

She didn't understand why he loathed Raoul with such force. At first, she wondered if it simply had to do with the entire mystery of the situation. But what on earth could her fiancé have done to earn such hatred? He was barely any older than she was, living most of his life in boarding schools or gated mansions. As far as she had known him, he had never wronged anyone. In the end, though, it really didn't matter why Raoul was so despised. He was likely going to die for some unknown and perverse reason, some matter that he had no control over. A part of her wished to get onto her knees and beg the masked man to spare her fiance's life, and yet that would only anger him more.

Her mind flew back and forth between the breathtaking music and the fear of what lay ahead. Not surprisingly, her instructor noticed her distracted gaze.

"You are not entirely focused today, Christine," he stated, eyeing her closely. The violin was poised at his shoulder. "I had intended to begin a new piece, but perhaps your attention lies elsewhere. Away from your voice." There was distinct disapproval in his tone, as if he knew just what she was thinking about.

"I'm sorry," she murmured. "I guess I'm just tired." _If you would just show mercy, I would sing whatever you wanted. Please let him live..._

The masked man nodded, his posture straight and imposing. "I would permit you to venture outside for a short time, but it appears that the weather is dismal. It would only worsen your health, ruin your voice. I fear you must remain inside for today, Christine. Perhaps tomorrow."

She nodded, noticing how much he wanted to please her. "Yes. I heard the storm last night." For a second, she thought she saw a glimmer of surprise in his eyes, but they quickly resumed their stoic gaze.

"It is your choice, as always," he softly replied. "We may continue our lesson, or you may depart for the evening if you are tired. Whatever you wish."

Christine paused, not quite ready to enter the quiet solitude of her room. "We can continue for a little while...if that's okay."

He leaned in slightly. "Certainly! We still have much material to go over. Perhaps I will introduce the new aria. " He paused. "You are improving drastically. Your voice has likely surpassed the point where it was when you chose to abandon it. _Christine._ You could delight many a person with your instrument, should you choose to continue. Imagine what you could do!" His eyes were lit up like candles.

Christine hesitated and looked to the floor with slight discomfort. "I don't know. I mean...thank you. It means a lot to me. But it takes so much work...to get anywhere. For anyone to notice you. I don't think I can...I mean..." She stuttered.

"But you have the ability to force people to notice you, Christine!" he exclaimed, causing her to draw back slightly. "Why do you resist it? It is yours to have!"

She kept her gaze down. "Things just didn't work out. It became too difficult. I couldn't..."

"Ah yes," he interrupted, his voice now bitter. "Much better to take the simpler path. To neglect your instrument and hide away in that _boy's_ mansion. I imagine he bought you many a lovely thing, didn't he? Well perhaps someone should ensure that you are not able to take the easy road, Christine." His voice became lower and lower, growing in its frightening intensity. "What if all you had remaining in your possession was your voice?"

"Please," she pled, shaking her head and taking a step backward. "It's not like that. It's not his fault. It was just...my father...I couldn't..." Her voice cracked.

"And your father would have wished you to wed and abandon all else? Was that his dream for you, _Ms. Daae?"_

Her face paled. "I don't know," she whispered. "I don't know." _No._

"I..." He suddenly raised his hand in the air and abruptly turned away from her to face the wall. His shoulders were now heaving slightly. In fact, she was beginning to notice that his breathing became irregular now and then during their lessons, particularly when he was displeased. His head was tilted toward the ground, and he remained silent.

"Are..." She swallowed and gathered her scattered courage. "Are you okay?"

"In a moment, I will be fine."

"Should I get Nadir? Can he help?" She took an unsteady step toward him.

"No!" he exclaimed irritably. "He is the absolute last person I wish to see at a time such as this. I will be perfectly well in a moment. Although I cannot imagine why you would wish that to be so. Would not it be ideal if your captor perished at this moment? You could flee and never look back. Would not that be the perfect scenario?"

"What?" she asked, feeling her heart sting at the comment. "I...I don't want that to happen. I just..." She wearily ran a hand over her face. "Is there anything I can do?"

"No, Christine. There is nothing you can do."

"Even a glass of water?" she quietly offered. Perhaps someday she would look back and wonder why she had not wished death upon this man. At that moment, though, her heart ached with sympathy for this shadowed being. If only she could understand a little better...understand any of this.

"Ms. Daae," he replied, his voice slightly stronger as he stood up straight. A soft chuckle came from behind the mask. "You are far too humane for your own well being. " He sighed and faced her. A brief silence passed between them. "Christine..." He reached out a hand. For a second, she thought he meant to touch her cheek and stood frozen to the floor. The bony hand passed by her face with a soft whoosh of air, though, before resting at his side. "Perhaps it is best you go now. It has been a long evening."

She slowly nodded, wondering if her presence was somehow making him ill. "All right." The corners of her lips twitched in the smallest of parting smiles. "I'll be back tomorrow."

He nodded. "You will."

Feeling slightly lightheaded, she left the room and ascended the staircase. Nadir was nowhere in sight, and so she paused by Raoul's door. She swallowed before speaking, worried about his condition. The surreal feeling that accompanied her singing lessons faded away, and reality returned. "Hello? Raoul? Are you awake?"

"Hey," he hoarsely replied, already right beside the door. He must have heard her coming up the stairs.

She winced at the sound of his weakened voice, feeling as though her divided emotions were about to split her into two pieces. "Hi! How are you? How are you feeling?"

"About the same," he murmured. "Coughing a lot." Her fiancé paused before he spoke again, his voice taking on an almost haunted tone. "You know what, Christine? I think it's almost over."

"What?"

"I just have this feeling..." he continued. "I think it's going to end soon."

Christine hesitated. "I don't know. Nadir hasn't said anything yet either way. I'm still...I'm still trying to find a way to get you help."

He sighed. "Why bother? We both know how this is going to end. Just worry about saving yourself."

"No," she whispered. "No! You're going to live. We're both going to live."

"He's going to kill me! That creature...he hates me. I don't know why, but he does. There's no way I'm going to get out of here alive."

"Raoul." She paused. "He's...he's just a man. Nothing more and nothing less. And I think...I hope that he won't hurt you."

"Why in the heck wouldn't he?" her fiancé shrilly enquired. "What's stopping him?"

"I don't know. But...I...I don't think he wants to hurt _me_ that badly."

"What?"

"I think that he...I don't know." Her voice shook a little. Perhaps she was admitting it to herself for the first time. "I think that he cares about me..."

A short silence followed. "Christine...if that's true, then you need to get out of here," he stated with a warning tone. "Get out fast. This is dangerous. What if he..." His voice tapered off. "Find a way out. And just keep running."

"Don't be ridiculous!" she said with a sharper edge. "I'm not leaving you here. And I don't think I'm in any immediate danger. Just hold on tight, okay? We're going to be fine." She was slightly surprised by the strength in her own words, and yet, she somehow believed them.

He sighed again. "If...if anything starts getting strange with him, promise me you'll get out. All right?"

Christine frowned, not really wanting to discuss this. When she'd stated that the masked man cared for her, she hadn't meant it in an obscene way. He'd never even touched her! "Fine, Raoul. I will. If that happens." Her gaze went to the side as she heard Nadir coming up the stairs. "I have to go now," she whispered, slightly eager to get away from the conversation topic. "Take care. Try to get better. We'll both be fine."

"All right," he replied without conviction. "Just be careful, Christine."

"I will."

* * *

Her head was cluttered as she went to bed that night, with thoughts, questions, and the music of the violin that played from downstairs. She slept, but it was an unrestful sleep in which half of her mind seemed to remain awake, continuing to ponder the situation. A feeling of urgency tugged at her, and she couldn't help but wonder if Raoul's prediction was correct. What if it was almost over? What if everything would end soon? 

Nadir came in early the next morning, also appearing tired, a slowness in his step and dark rings around his eyes. He nodded once toward her, before setting a glass of orange juice and a set of towels upon her dresser. She looked over curiously from where she sat reading on the bed, having awoken some time before sunrise. "Is everything well with you?" he enquired. "Anything you need?" Mr. Khan suppressed a yawn and blinked heavily several times.

Christine hesitated for a long moment. "No, thank you. Nothing I need." He nodded, beginning to turn away and leave. "But..."

"Yes?" Nadir turned back around.

She swallowed. "Raoul says that it's almost over. Our...captivity, I mean. Is it?"

The older man scratched his head and sighed. "I am not sure. The matter is complicated. It will depend on when the elder de Chagny arrives. We have received little news as of yet. But...the time is drawing nearer, I suppose."

"I see." She was about to put in another plea for Raoul's life but knew that Nadir had no control over the situation. Instead, she attempted to satisfy another part of her troubled mind. She felt the need for information, to know more about her masked instructor, to understand him and the situation somehow. Questions had plagued her mind all night. "Before it _is_ over, could you tell me some things? Please? I'm always going to wonder...even after I leave. Where do you come from? Tell me anything!"

Nadir hesitated. "I don't know why you want to cloud your mind with these unpleasantries. It would be best to just forget this...forget us."

"Forget this?" she asked with slight incredulity. "I'll never forget this. I'll never forget..." Her voice tapered off. "Please. Anything."

He sighed. "Fine. A few facts. I was born in Iran. Everyone else has origins in France. I moved there with my wife when I was slightly older than yourself. Conditions had become dangerous in my home country, and I wished to get away. My wife...she died in childbirth some years later." His expression darkened significantly.

She nodded, attempting to sort out what she wanted to ask next before he left. "So _he_ comes from France?"

"I...Yes, Christine. To...some extent, although I doubt he would ever claim a home country." Nadir shook his head and headed back out the door. " I do not wish to share any more. That is enough. Leave this place and try to forget."

She panicked a little, knowing that this might be her last chance to get information. At that moment, she couldn't think of a final question to ask. There were so many uncertainties. Her eyes suddenly fell upon the book that lay beside her on the bed, the one that Nadir had given her. The corners of the photographs stuck out from the side. Christine quickly yanked them out and held them up. "Wait! One more thing. Who's Madeleine? Just that. Just tell me that."

Nadir froze in the doorway, his back stiffening. "Merely a friend, as I have said."

"Really?" she asked. "That's it? Please tell me the truth. Was she your lover? I don't care. But I know there's more."

Nadir chuckled almost sadly and turned to face her again. "My lover? Goodness, no. Well...she was beautiful enough at one time to make any man want to be her lover. She was married, though. But...I was never...involved with her in such a way."

"Then who is she?"

"Madeleine lived fairly close to my wife and I. She died young...was widowed years previously...had a single child." His expression was so morose and somber that her next question only seemed natural.

"What happened to her?"

"That is much more information than is possible to explain. Nor should you dwell upon it." He started to turn around again, more slowly this time.

"Is her child still alive?" she quickly asked.

Nadir slowly nodded. "Although...some would argue that death would have been more kind." He paused. "I disagree. But...I am in the minority." His tone had now changed slightly, as though a part of him wanted her to solve a certain enigma.

"Death would have been more kind? Why?"

He sighed. "When the quality of one's life becomes too low, existence becomes painful. Some argue that, for certain people, death is a kinder fate than a life of misery. In this case...well..." He gazed at her for a long moment, a glint in his eyes. "Perhaps I will leave you to make your own judgement, Ms. Daae."

"I..." Her eyes narrowed in confusion before traveling down to the photograph again. She suddenly focused on Maddy's hands...long, graceful fingers that were neatly folded together. Musician's hands. The woman continued to stare up at her with those two dark eyes, her gaze piercing and bright. The small smile on her mouth seemed to say everything. _You know who I am... _"Oh my God," Christine murmured. "Is it...?" Her heart pounded, and her voice shook.

Nadir merely nodded once, although it looked as though a significant weight had fallen off his chest. Perhaps a part of him had wanted to share the information. She just stared downwards, the photograph slipping from her fingers and falling noiselessly to the bed, where it landed face up.

That was all the information she received that day, but it was more than she could have hoped for.

* * *

To her unpleasant surprise, Joseph Buquet was in the sitting room when she went downstairs for her voice lesson that evening. Fortunately, his attention was not focused upon her. He was holding up a package of what appeared to be new batteries and gesturing with annoyance toward the tiny television. Nadir merely muttered something back. To the best of her translating ability, she thought he said, "Wait another half hour to watch it." 

Shrugging and diverting her eyes, she quickly darted into the safety of the dining room. Her instructor was sitting at the table, facing her with a red ink pen in one hand. She studied him for a moment as the door shut behind her, recalling the revelation of that morning. It was a strange piece of knowledge, and yet, it confirmed what she had told her fiancé yesterday. Behind the black mask was a man...with a mother and a childhood...just like anyone else. The thought was slightly comforting.

"Does something bother you, Christine?" he enquired in a guarded tone, perhaps wondering why she was staring at him so intensely.

"No!" She quickly shook her head. "No. I'm fine."

"Very well, then," he calmly replied. "We will begin now, as little was accomplished yesterday. I plan to introduce a new piece today. It can be sung by either a soubrette or a coloratura...a step up from what you have been singing. It is time for us to move forward, I believe." He picked up several music sheets, before standing up and placing them on the wooden table for her to retrieve.

"What's it about?" she asked, picking them up and curiously looking downwards.

He paused. "It is a song of jealousy from _La Sonnambula...The Sleep Walker_. But...that is no matter. Put no thought into the role for now. Simply sing as you always do Christine. I will instruct you toward perfection."

After a quick set of warmups, she began the new aria along with the violin, immediately finding that she disliked this particular song. Whether it was the increased difficulty, the music, or the topic of the piece; she did not know. Her voice, however, never seemed to fit into it. A feeling of disdain swept over her whenever she attempted to sing, an unpleasant taste gathering in her mouth.

After several tries, her instructor sighed and rubbed his temples before reaching out a bony hand. "Give me the music, Christine," he stated in an even tone. He sounded tired...almost disturbed. "Perhaps it is not right for you. The role is not right...not right. We will forget this piece for now. I erred in choosing it. It is clearly not for you. "

"I'm sorry. I..." She swallowed. "Maybe if I tried again. Or maybe tomorrow."

"No. We will disregard that piece completely." There was no room for argument. "I have another aria of Bastienne's. An aria of loneliness. Perhaps...perhaps you will do better with that, no? You seemed to enjoy her other aria."

Christine eagerly nodded. "All right. I'll try it." He handed her the sheets of music this time, his fingers always as distantly as possible from her own. She remembered Nadir's words with slight sadness.

_He despises human contact. Conveniently, no one ever offers it to him. _

Slowly, she began, putting her full heart into this song as she attempted to quickly read the music. There was no strain this time; her voice seemed to fall naturally into place. She forgot everything else for a few minutes, and he did not interrupt to correct her when she erred. The violin simply played on, colliding and entwining with her voice. It was not a flawless performance, not even close... and yet, in some ways it was the best she had ever done. When it was over, Christine just stood there, her hands shaking slightly as she returned to earth. He lowered the violin, his arms limply at his sides. A current of energy continued to crackle through the air.

"Christine," he whispered, a rasp in his voice. His yellow eyes shone with something that could not be named.

Her chest heaved as she caught her breath. Everything seemed to freeze around her. No clear thoughts could penetrate her mind. "I..."

"Christine," he continued, his voice hollow and broken. He reached out a free hand and grasped the empty air. "You...are...my... peace of mind. My solace...heaven..._Christine.._"

She had no response, still in a slight state of shock. Goose bumps ran up and down her arms. "I..."

A loud knock on the door intruded into the strange silence, causing them both to sharply glance up in surprise. Christine blinked several times, quickly gathering her bearings as her heart continued to race.

"What?" the masked man practically growled, obviously angry over the interruption.

"It is me," stated Nadir, a nervous note in his voice. "I am sorry to intrude...but it is very urgent." He opened the door and entered without waiting for an invitation. His eyes were wide as he looked between them, and his mouth was twisted in distress. His dark complexion seemed to have paled.

"What do you want, Nadir?"

"I..." He swallowed, slightly out of breath. "I have news. Important news." He looked toward her in apprehension. The masked man seemed to follow his worried gaze.

"We are finished today, Christine," stated her instructor with an edge in his voice. "We will continue tomorrow. You did well. Rest tonight."

She looked between them anxiously, feeling the rate of her heart continue to increase in anticipation of something terrible. They merely watched her until she had dizzily made her way out of the room and closed the door behind her. Seeing Buquet pacing back and forth, she quickly rushed out of the sitting area and headed up the stairs, all the while listening to what was going on behind her. There was silence at first, save for her pounding footsteps. Just as she reached the top step, though, something crashed downstairs.

It was the sound of something heavy being thrown or broken, smashed and splintered into tiny and unrecognizable pieces. A horrible and echoing noise. She froze, distintively hearing four words from down below. Her face paled, and she gripped onto the railing until her knuckles were white.

"So it is over."


	15. Solstice

Wow, guys! Thank you for all the lovely reviews. There might be a brief hiatus after this chapter. One of my summer courses is finishing up and getting a little busy. Secondly, this chapter sort of marks the end of part one to this story, and I need some time to organize my plot a little. I do hope you continue to read after this chapter, despite the circumstances. Also, just in case anyone is confused by a certain detail, remember that Christine learned her instructor's name at the end of Chapter 10. It is vague, but it is there. Thanks!

Also, another big thanks to Ripper de la Blackstaff for translation help. Check out her Deviant Art account under RipperBlackstaff for some great POTO work.

**Read and Review!**

Silence reigned throughout the house for several agonizing minutes. If there was a conversation taking place within the dining room, it was too soft for her to hear now. Christine continued to wait at the top of the stairs, listening for some clue as to what had occurred...as to what was going to happen next. Her hands trembled, and a churning sensation was gathering in the pit of her stomach. The tension in the air was unmistakable, and the wooden floor occasionally creaked with Joseph Buquet's continuous pacing. She could hear him mutter something to Darius in French, but her mind was too cluttered to even try to translate. His tone gave her chills, though.

Suddenly, the dining room door flew open with a grating creak, and the sound was followed by the clatter of rapid footsteps. Christine threw herself against the cold hallway wall so that she could not be seen from below. She closed her eyes, praying that they could not hear the pounding of her heart or her rapid breathing.

"He is obviously of no use to us now," came the voice of her instructor, eerie in its calmness. "He knows nothing of value. He has been good for little during his entire stay. And it appears that fate has accomplished our mission for us. And we are left with_ nothing_! No financial gain and no satisfaction. It is over." She could almost feel his anger radiating through the air.

"Yes," softly agreed Nadir. "I could not believe it myself. A plane crash? I did not even know he had decided to return..."

She blinked in confusion, trying to discern what they were discussing. Who had been in a plane crash? And what did it mean for them? How much time did she have?

To her dismay, a conversation suddenly began in French within the sitting room, a loud and rapid dialogue with the voices of Buquet and her instructor the most prominent. Nadir would softly interrupt at some points. Darius merely uttered agreements here and there. Although she could pick up several words, she had no clue as to what was occurring. She attempted to calm herself, praying no one would notice her presence.

Her instructor suddenly made a single statement, a command of some kind, to which Nadir quietly agreed. A set of heavy footsteps approached the stairwell. Eyes wide, Christine rushed forward and dodged into the open bathroom to hide herself, not wanting anyone to have the capability to lock in her in the bedroom. If she were trapped in there, she would have no power over anything...no power over Raoul's life. The slow footsteps came closer, and she held her breath, praying it wasn't somehow Buquet. To her relief, Nadir poked his head inside, a sympathetic frown on his tired face. She stared back at him with uncertainty.

"Come, Christine," he softly said, gesturing with one hand. "Let us go to your room now."

She rapidly shook her head and backed away from him. "What's going on? What's happening?"

"Christine...it does not matter. Please come."

"No! Tell me what happened!"

He reluctantly sighed. "We have received news that Phillip de Chagny died in a plane crash. The entire purpose of our mission is defeated. It is over, I'm afraid."

Her eyes widened. "Oh my God! Phillip?" She had never even met him, but Raoul would likely be devastated by the news. _That is...if he lived through this..._."Then...then what's going to happen now? What's going on downstairs?"

A pained expression came across Nadir's face. "Please come to your room, Christine. Where it is safe. _He_ has commanded it. You will be safe in your room. I am sure of this. There is nothing else you can do."

"No!" she almost yelled. "You're going to kill him, aren't you? You're going to kill Raoul now. Or he is! No!"

"Christine..." Nadir began helplessly.

"No! It can't happen like this. I've got to try." Her eyes widened as she heard the door down the hallway sharply squeak open. She had never heard the footsteps coming up the stairs, nor venturing down the hallway. Only one person there was capable of such a silent ascension. Time was now dangerously short.

"Ms. Daae. There is nothing you can do. Do you understand me?"

"No!" she stated, feeling tears form in her eyes. "I have to try!" Gathering all of her strength and energy, she burst forward past a startled Mr. Khan and into the hallway. To her surprise, he made little move to stop her, although his heavy footsteps soon followed her down the hall. Perhaps a small part of him thought she had a chance...knew that she was the only chance.

She momentarily stood in front of the ajar door that led to Raoul's room, immediately hearing a voice on the other side. Her instructor was speaking, his voice calm and cold. "Your brother is dead, boy. Unfortunately, it was not even by my hand. I have gained nothing from this! _Nothing. _Time wasted for nothing! And your presence here is now useless, for you know nothing! You have no more purpose to me." A frightening pause. "And soon...you will have no purpose to anyone...including_ her_." Another pause. "For a corpse, Mr. de Chagny, a corpse has no purpose, as I have found."

"I didn't do anything to you!" her fiancé shouted back, hopelessness evident in his voice.

Christine's face paled sickly. How different her instructor's kind words of encouragement were to her every evening. How different his breathtaking music was... "Is _he_...Is he the only one in there?" she whispered. "Or is Buquet also...?"

"No," said Nadir from behind her. "He wished to do it alone." Mr. Khan sighed. "I can give no promises concerning your fate should you choose to enter. But I will not stop you...It is in your hands now."

She bit her lip and listened again, gathering her courage.

"Your father and brother escaped this fate, boy. But you will not! You will not!"

Inhaling sharply, Christine opened the door as quietly as possible. Shivers of horror ran through her body as she stared at the nightmare that was seconds away from happening. Her instructor loomed over her obviously weakened fiancé, an enraged and almost insane gleam in the yellow orbs. The lasso hung from his upturned right hand, the noose ready to break the neck of its next victim.

Raoul stood several feet away against the wall with an angry but defeated expression, as though he had accepted his fate. His white shirt and dress pants were dirty and wrinkled, and he was thinner than she last remembered him. Dark rings circled his blue eyes, and his cheeks had less color, a result of the illness and of being kept in the dim confines of the room.

Her eyes now went back to her instructor. His shoulders heaved with a long-held anger, his skeletal hands clenched into fists. So caught up was he in his need for vengeance that he did not turn around to face her.

_He despises human contact. Conveniently, no one ever offers it to him. _

At first, she planned to jump directly in front of Raoul. An inner feeling caused her to change the course of her direction, though, and she headed straight for her instructor instead, arms outstretched. Her fiancé glanced at her with a startled and horrified expression, mouthing at her to get out. She ignored him and leaped forward.

_His name is not used often. It may be best that you do not know, unless he wishes you to..._

"Erik! No!" she screamed. She suddenly grabbed the arm that was holding the lasso, finding the appendage to be so thin that much of her fingers clutched to the dark material of his suit. He immediately whirled to face her with his yellow eyes aflame, almost throwing her off her feet. She felt her breath catch in her throat, wondering if this would be the end for her. His free hand clutched her other wrist in the air, and she noticed how icy his fingers were. They now looked as though they were in some strange ballroom dance.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Raoul start to flinch forward. Nadir's voice came soft and sharply from behind her. "Don't be foolish, boy. Stay where you are. Do not move."

"Please, don't," she whispered, her heart throbbing as her instructor loomed above her. She looked directly into those yellow eyes. "Don't do this. I'll do anything. Don't kill him."

"Why shouldn't I?" he viciously whispered near to her ear, sending a cold shiver down her spine. "What reason do I have to show him any mercy...to show any soul mercy? What even makes you think me capable of such an act, you foolish girl...a monster such as myself? Eh? Come, Christine. Leave...before you condemn yourself as well."

She closed her eyes for a moment, attempting to compose herself and focus. There was a reason she had dared to burst into this room, to risk her own life. This was her instructor...who had returned her voice to her...who played the violin with such elegance...who had given her gifts and comforts. "Please don't. For me. You've done a lot for me. More than most people. Now just do this. Please. Please don't kill him. You're...you're not a monster. I know you're not. You've done too much for me. Please don't do this."

The salty tears flowed freely down her cheeks, and a lump formed in the back of her throat. Her hand loosened its grip on his arm as he brought the lasso down to his side. She froze, wondering if she was close to having the noose around her own neck. The weapon stayed down, though.

"Oh! But I am a monster, Christine! I am! All because of _them_!" He furiously gestured toward her fiancé with the strange weapon. "Were it not for them," he growled, "I would have ..." He paused, his glowing eyes staring upon her with something different...something foreign. "I would have possessed peace...and life...I could have lived...lived as a normal man with a house and a wife...But none of that is mine. It will never be mine! Because of _them_! I have no mercy! There is no mercy for anyone!"

"I don't understand," she pled, rapidly shaking her head. "I'm sorry. I don't know what happened to you. I know it must have been terrible. I'm so sorry. But please don't do this. You don't have to. You can still live. This isn't it for anyone! Please!"

"No..." he whispered, the anger leaving his voice. "There is no life now. Only death...for me. I am made of death, Christine...you see...That is all I ever have been." He suddenly yanked her closer. He held her there for a moment, their torsos nearly touching. She froze below him, full of fear and wonder. "But for you, Christine, there is life for you, isn't there? Only for you...and your voice..." His cold eyes fell back upon her fiancé. "Only for you and your voice." Raoul watched them, his eyes wide with both horror and fascination, appearing to be torn between charging forward and staying where he was.

"Please don't," she softly pled, trying to draw his attention back to her. "Don't, Erik. You're not dead. No one is yet. Please don't do this. It will...hurt me more than anything. Please don't...Please..."

His gaze returned to her when she said his name again."When you are gone...there will be nothing for..." He paused. The yellow eyes suddenly looked duller, the insanity fading. His breath was harsher again. "Will you have even one good thought of your teacher when you are far and gone, Christine...or only nightmares after this day?"

She blinked in confusion, before realizing with new hope that a barrier had been broken. "I'll have good thoughts," she quickly whispered, "if you don't do this."

As he gripped her wrist higher in the air, she could see a revealed part of his lower arm beneath his sleeve, the skin there even paler than his hands. Raised crimson markings were engraved into parts of the flesh, like cigarette burns or some other physical torment that had been inflicted later in life. _Why had this happened? _Her saddened eyes wandered back up as he spoke again.

"One kind thought of Erik in the entire world! Promise me you will!" he rasped, tightening his frigid hold on her frail wrist. "Promise me you will not always remember me with hatred."

She rapidly nodded, choking back a sob. An ache gnawed at her heart, a sharing of his grief. "Of course I won't. I...I don't hate you!"

He quickly released her wrist and slowly brought a timid hand to her cheek. She deeply inhaled at the cold and tingling sensation of his fingertips as they barely brushed her skin. "A single kind thought...in exchange for a single life...One moment of peace in this lifetime. _Christine_. Is that a fair bargain? Is it? I cannot think...Christine..."

"It is a fair bargain," she murmured. "Many kind thoughts for his life. Please...No one has to be hurt tonight...No one..."

"_Christine_..." he whispered. She closed her eyes as he touched her cheek, inhaling deeply as a lightheaded and floating sensation overcame her. In the back of her mind, she thought he said something else, but perhaps it was only her imagination. "_Let me keep you..._"

A new pair of footsteps suddenly stomped forward from closely behind her, shattering the ethereal moment. She opened her eyes just in time to see her instructor's head snap up and his hand sharply withdraw from her. Turning around in surprise, Christine saw that Buquet now stood in the doorway, his face slick with sweat as he looked around the room with disgusted bewilderment. "Qu'est ce que tu fais!" _What are you doing?_

"_Dehors!_" hissed Erik, standing up straight and taking a step forward.

"Pourquoi ne pas les tuer!" _Why don't you just kill them!_

"Get out!" the masked man again growled, raising the dangling weapon with his eyes aflame.

Christine released a choked gasp as Buquet suddenly drew out a shiny black gun from his jacket pocket, waving it toward her with a malicious glint in his eyes. He had obviously been looking forward to this for some time, had been savoring the thought of their demise. Vicious words came from his sneering mouth, and the gun clicked in preparation to fire.

Before she could even blink and attempt to get out of the way, the masked man...Erik...Erik had flung her backward and stepped between her and Buquet. An exchange of heated words followed, the gun still violently waving in the air. She was vaguely aware of Raoul grasping her by the arm and pulling her beside him. Nadir stepped forward, prepared to be of assistance in their defense.

Within mere seconds, a sickening crack sounded out into the room and she watched from her position as Joseph Buquet's eyes bulged outward from his skull. His head tilted backward in an unnatural position. An expression of horror remained permanently frozen upon his bearded face as he slumped to the floor in a limp heap, all color drained from his wrinkled cheeks. The gun slid from his hand and clattered onto the floorboards. Nadir quickly scooped up the weapon and stuck it into his pocket, perspiration coating his brow. The masked man stood still with his back turned toward her, the lasso clasped within his pale hand. A silence fell throughout the room.

Still staring forward in shock, Christine soon felt Raoul's arms wrap around her waist and pull her against him. She automatically leaned into the familiar warm embrace, trembling. As her instructor turned around to face them, her heart begin to throb again, a medley of emotions swirling through her mind...fear, gratitude, pity, wonder...and so many more. The golden eyes gazed down upon the embraced young couple, lingering there for several long seconds. There was a quick flash of hatred and anger, soon followed by bitter acceptance and resignation. The lasso quickly disappeared beneath the folds of the suit.

"Death..." he tonelessly stated, staring down toward the corpse of Buquet. "All that I am. All I have to offer. And my wedding gift to you both." Erik gestured toward the body with a short mock bow. In a swirl of black he turned away from them and strode toward the door. "We leave," he stated to Nadir, a noticeable crack in his tenor voice. "We go now. There is no point in staying any longer. No reason to. Inform Darius that we are departing. See that he obeys."

"Of course," Nadir quietly replied. Mr. Khan looked at her for a brief moment and nodded once in goodbye. She nodded back, feeling her eyes growing blurry with moisture. A part of her wanted to say something...anything, and yet she could think of nothing. It was ending how it was supposed to, how she had prayed it would end, wasn't it? There was nothing that could be said...no words to change the past...

Nadir followed his shadowed companion out of the room, and the door abruptly closed behind them. She heard voices outside, the one of her instructor most distinct. "Gather your possessions quickly. We leave...We leave now..."

Christine closed her eyes at the sound of that broken voice. Raoul's arms remained wrapped tightly around her waist as they huddled against the wall and listened. The sound of heavy footsteps echoed throughout the house for a while, along with an occasional shout in French. "We'll wait until they leave," her fiancé whispered into her ear. "We'll wait till they're gone."

She just nodded, her mind too numb to produce a coherent thought. _It was over...It was over..._Something continued to ache inside of her. Perhaps the stress of the evening was making her physically ill.

Within twenty minutes or so, a door slammed downstairs, the final crash reverberating off the hollow walls. Silence then engulfed the house, save for Raoul quietly breathing into her ear. They both waited for several seconds. "They're gone," he finally whispered in disbelief. "Jesus. They're gone. Christine! We're alive! We're both alive!"

She nodded again, unable to speak as the tears ran down her cheeks. Her fiancé hugged her, and she turned to cry into his shoulder for a moment. They were tears of relief and gratitude for herself and her future husband, along with cries of mourning for those that were gone...for a terrible past that she would never know of or understand. "It's okay," Raoul whispered, his tone stronger now. He gently kissed the top of her head. "We're alive. Everything's fine now. We're alive. We're going to make it."

"Yes. Yes, we are. We are." She took a shuddery breath, her cheek leaning on his shoulder. She tried to find clarity. "It's dark, Raoul," she choked out. "It's late. How are we going...how are we going to leave and find anyone?"

He paused, gently stroking her back. "We might have to wait until morning. It's going to be a long walk back. Maybe there's a gas station somewhere. Or we can flag down a driver..."

Christine nodded, her eyes falling toward the lifeless body of Buquet._ He would have killed both of us..._ Raoul coughed several times, and she looked back up. "Are you...hurt?" she asked.

He slowly shook his head. "No. Not really. A few bruises. Mostly just sick and tired. I was...more neglected and ignored than anything. Guess that's a good thing, right?"

"Yeah," she replied with relief. "I'm thankful you're not hurt." Christine paused, remembering the words exchanged earlier. "I'm so sorry about your brother, Raoul. I never even met him."

He just silently nodded, his mind perhaps not yet even comprehending all that had occurred. "We're alive. That's all that matters right now."

They stood there several minutes longer. She spoke again and looked up at him. "What did they want? Who...who were they? I don't...understand...Why did this happen?"

"I don't know, Christine" he tiredly replied. "Something from...when my father was alive. But I don't care. I don't really give a damn why it happened. No reason could justify this. I just want to forget this someday. I...I just hate them for what they did to us. Don't you?"

"No," she distantly whispered. "I don't hate anyone. I just...I hate what people do to each other...all people..."

"Yeah," he murmured.

Her eyes wandered back to the dead body, and she almost felt like gagging. "Let's leave this room," she shakily stated. "Let's go somewhere else."

He nodded. "All right. I think it's safe now."

They opened the door and slowly walked into the empty house, their soft footsteps the only disturbance in the silence. Christine turned right and headed toward her former bedroom. A hollow sensation gathered inside of her. It was so strange to walk freely about the house, to have no boundaries again. Raoul also appeared to be in a daze as he followed her inside and looked around. "This is where you were staying?" he asked incredulously. "God. You had everything."

She looked down to the floor with slight shame. "I know I did. I don't know why..."

He gently took her hand. "No. It doesn't matter. I'm glad you were treated well."

"Thanks..." She sadly smiled and looked at the items. "I want to take some things. They weren't used much."

"Are you sure?" he wearily asked. "Maybe we should just...leave this nightmare behind us...leave it all here and forget about it."

Her eyes searched for the book first. It was gone, though, along with the photographs that were tucked inside. Nadir had treasured it too much to leave it behind. Slowly, she reached down and picked up the pair of soft slippers and the glimmering hand mirror. Then, she scooped up the music sheets with the red writing in the corner. "Just these things," she softly stated, looking down at the objects. "This is what I want to take."

Her fiancé nodded in resignation, making no more protests. They slowly went down the stairs, still cautious in the eerie quiet. Not used to physical exertion, Raoul was slower in his descent. Christine turned right at the landing and opened the door to the dining room, squinting in the dim light of the electric chandelier. A wooden chair lay smashed to several pieces in the middle of the room. Two of the dismembered legs were strewn to the side, and the back was completely crushed. Other than that, the room was utterly empty.

She closed the door and stepped out with a frightened look in her eyes. Raoul put an arm around her shivering shoulders. She didn't want to be there anymore. It was like a crypt. "Now what?" she whispered.

"We'll wait till daylight," he replied, perhaps noticing the haunted look in her eyes. "It's all we can do, love."

She started to nod in agreement, despising the idea of being there any longer. But there was no way they could walk through the woods at night. The journey would be difficult enough in the daytime, especially with Raoul not in the best state of health.

Suddenly, though, she looked up, her head tilted toward the sitting room window and her blue eyes widening. A smile of relief graced her lips, and a heavy weight lifted from her chest. "Raoul?" she whispered. "Can you hear them?"

"Hear what?" he asked in confusion.

"Listen," she murmured.

"I don't hear anything..."

"Sirens! I can hear them!"

"I don't..." His voice tapered off, and he looked up in disbelief.

From the distance, the wailing noise came closer and closer, cutting through the night air and growing in audibility as it echoed through the trees. A symphony of sirens and flashing lights. Her fiancé would later ask how the police had known to find them that night. An anonymous phone call had apparently rung in, and a patrol car had been nearby. The date was June twentieth.

_The last day of spring. _


	16. Part 2: Lost and Found

Hey guys! Did you miss me? Believe me, I was dying to write the next chapter during the entire time that I was writing a ten page paper on advertising a new hydrogen-powered Honda... Lol. Let's just hope I don't fail it.

Anyway, I am back for a while. This chapter is going to feel like Part 2 as everything changes as far as setting, time, some new characters being added, etc. It's also the part where much of the background information is given. This chapter is probably the most dull as far as that is concerned, but I promise the excitement will pick up quickly. Also, although I took some ideas from Susan Kay, I didn't necessarily use her characterizations. Maddy, in particular, is more my own character interpretation for this story.

And, finally, thank you for all the wonderful reviews on the last chapter. I'm so glad everyone wants this story to continue :)

**Read and Review!**

_Early August_

Claustrophobia. Perhaps that was the reason for the heavy feeling lying in the pit of Nadir's stomach, accompanied by the steady pounding in his temples. Or maybe it was sea sickness? Likely a bit of both. He had been in the tiny cabin of the cargo ship for over a week now, and the room was stuffy, warm, and cramped. Only a one-person bed and a chipped desk lay inside the closet-sized space. It was really no surprise that he felt ill after all this time. At least the ride hadn't been bumpy, and the weather had been fair, although a bit too humid for his taste.

They had waited almost a month for the press to die down over the release of Ms. Daae and Mr. de Chagny, wanting to see just how much the young couple would reveal about their captors. How much would the police have to work with? Certainly no photographs were available. Nadir remembered watching the television from some broken down shack in northern Kentucky several nights after the strange incident. Their faces had flashed onto the screen. De Chagny talked the most during the short interview, saying that they were both grateful to be safe and assuring the public that he had told the police all he was able to. Christine had kept fairly silent by his side, just stating that she was happy to be home again. Her blue eyes had been ringed with dark circles of exhaustion, and her face appeared worn.

Erik had also watched the broadcast, his bony hands clenched tightly and his yellow eyes focused on the screen with unnerving intensity. When it was over, he had retreated outside and into the darkness, not returning until well after midnight.

Nadir had never asked him of that fateful evening in June. He had never enquired as to why his masked companion had chosen to spare de Chagny's life. Mr. Khan already knew the answer to that question, and he knew that any enquiry would get him nothing but a dangerous glare and a cold retort. Erik had not killed the boy solely because of her. He had ensured that they had not died in the woods, ordering Nadir to phone the authorities, all because of her.

The subject of Ms. Daae was avoided, though. On the rare occasion that Christine's name did come up, Erik referred to her as either 'the girl' or Mrs. de Chagny. Nadir didn't know whether his comrade had somehow discovered that Ms. Daae was now wed, or if the last phrase was just a form of acceptance. That night in June still stayed strong in Nadir's memory, though, and he could not help but feel a deep sympathy for his companion. To have a quick taste of humanity, only to then see it permanently ripped away, was perhaps worse than never having it at all.

After several weeks had passed with little progress made by the authorities, the three companions began to move through the shadows again, sticking to rural areas and small towns. Darius was sent to do any errand that involved the chance of being seen. He was young and Caucasian, not really matching any particular profile. They had slowly made their way to the Northeastern coast, staying in abandoned buildings and homes when rest was needed.

Once in New England, they had waited another week more for any lingering press to die down over the kidnaping. Mr. de Chagny and Ms. Daae disappeared from the spotlight quickly, likely attempting to reclaim their lives and avoid the media. When all seemed clear, Nadir and Darius had easily used fake documents to get onto the cargo ship and secure passage over the Atlantic Ocean.

Travel by freighter was cheaper than by cruise ship, and the security was much laxer compared with that of an airport. Their fake passports had barely been given a second glance, as authorities were much more concerned about people entering than exiting the country. He and Darius had boarded the ship separately amongst the twenty or so other travelers to ensure that no connection would be drawn between them, and Darius had grown a short beard to change his appearance. His masked comrade had gotten on unnoticed at some later point, likely during the night or when the goods were being loaded onto the ship. It was really one of his lesser feats.

Nadir was broken from his thoughts as the door to his cabin abruptly opened and closed with several sharp clicks. He turned around to see his masked comrade enter and braced himself for unpleasant conversation. He still didn't know where Erik was staying. As the masked man rarely slept, though, he could probably make do almost anywhere, even walking the decks alone at night in the shadows.

"Good evening," quietly uttered Nadir with a nod.

Erik merely nodded back once before stating his purpose. He never stayed long, now preferring solitude even more than he had before the incident with Ms. Daae. "It is in your best interest to know that we will wait a substantial number of weeks before entering London. We will not rush this...not now. Not after the utter failure of our last attempt. There is no doubt that Oliver is quite aware of our approaching presence. The coward has likely escaped the country, and I will not again fall prey to one of his pathetic traps." The eyes glowed with the familiar burning hatred, his voice growing more bitter with each word. "We will bide our time. The rewards for patience will be sufficient."

Nadir slowly nodded. "Have you...decided whether to factor that woman into our plans? Oliver's niece. She certainly keeps her name in the press."

"Ah yes." The masked man coldly chuckled. "The screeching redheaded wench. I suppose time will tell whether her _assistance_ is needed. Although...I really do not know how long I could tolerate her presence before I silenced her permanently. But she may be of use. We will see."

Mr. Khan could not help but inwardly cringe as the shadow of hatred began to consume his companion once more. It was not that he hadn't been expecting the need for vengeance to return, but the icy tone still stung at his emotions for reasons embedded in the past. There had been days directly following the release of Ms. Daae where Erik had sounded more humane that ever before.

One particular conversation had taken place on the first day of July. "_Do you suppose," _Erik had distantly asked, his head titled upward toward a broken ceiling, "_Do you suppose she will have nightmares of me?"_

Nadir had looked up in surprise. "_I...do not think so. You never harmed her. I am sure she will be fine in time."_

"_Yes_," Erik had replied. _"And she can cling to _the boy _when she has nightmares of me. But...perhaps she will still have that one good thought of me, as she promised. As she promised. She would not break her promise, I know."_

Nadir had not known how to reply, and Erik had vanished from the room seconds later. Over time, though, the strange glint in the yellow eyes had faded, and the mission had become primary again. Erik talked of mainly of revenge now, of hanging Frederick Oliver and of draining the family financially. Yes, the vengeful shadow had returned.

"What is _that_?" Erik sharply enquired, again breaking him out of his thoughts. Nadir followed the gaze of the yellow eyes down toward the desk. The book he had lent Christine lay atop it, along with several sheets of blank paper, a pen, and a silvery hair clip that was lined with purple velvet. He could only guess that Erik was referring to the female accessory.

"Ah! I was in such a rush that evening, throwing items into my suitcase. I believe I must have accidentally snatched it up from the dresser while retrieving the book. I just discovered it a few nights ago." He cleared his throat. "I...was unsure of whether to dispose of it."

His comrade did not reply, the yellow eyes slowly drifting away from the hair clip with no readable emotion. A silence fell over the cabin. Nadir turned his head away and looked down toward the floor, always unsure of what to say about anything concerning Christine. Within several seconds, the door closed behind him, and Nadir knew that he was alone again. Solitude was not so unpleasant, though.

He could faintly feel the ship rock beneath him and became slightly queasy. Nadir's gaze drifted back down toward the book, and to the two photographs sticking out from the side. He pulled them from between the pages, and a pretty face soon smiled up at him from below, two dark eyes and a rosy mouth. Mr. Khan tiredly closed his eyes, remembering the first time he had seen Madeleine.

_It had been the autumn of 1970._ He and his wife of two years were walking through the open fields of southcentral France after moving there only several months earlier. It was a sort of permanent vacation from the troubles that constantly plagued Iran, and a chance to start a life somewhere with less turmoil. Nadir's family had strong ties with the disputed Shah, and, looking back at history, maybe it was a good thing that he left when he had. He and Hamideh had originally planned on moving to a city, perhaps Paris, so that Nadir could get a steady job with his degree in chemistry. Facing some hostilities in obtaining permanent residence, though, they decided to lay low within the rural areas for a while and find some peace of mind. Nadir had come from an upper class family and had enough wealth to sustain them for at least a year.

The marriage between him and Hamideh had been arranged years previously between their families, but, fortunately, they had proven to be compatible. Like he had been, his wife was even-tempered, not minding her more traditional role within the household. Still, she was educated enough to hold a conversation and was prudent about most matters, making wise purchasing decisions and offering advice where she could. Whether their relationship had ever contained true love or just pleasant companionship, Nadir was never quite sure. As the thought of her death still made him feel physically ill, though, he often thought that there had been something beyond friendship.

The French countryside was quiet. They often felt alone in their small two-bedroom home, isolated partially because of their immigrant status. Many of the families had lived there for generations and were not completely keen on outsiders. As Hamideh had not yet learned the language, she was especially in solitude. And so on that day in October, with little else to do, they had begun walking down the road and through the grassy plains to admire the autumn landscape. A mile down the path, they had come upon a grey, two-story stone home. Although it looked like it could have been built a century earlier, the house was also recently renovated and well kept. Freshly painted midnight blue shutters decked the spotless windows, and a whitewashed wooden fence surrounded the land. The yard was landscaped with various trees that were colored by the fall, along with a few dying flowers leftover from summer.

An attractive woman with dark curly hair had been raking leaves into a pile beneath a tall oak tree, dressed in a yellow house dress that fell to her knees and revealed her tanned legs. She glanced up curiously as they walked by the fence, carefully setting her rake against the tree trunk. "Good morning," she had uncertainly stated with a frown, as though not used to seeing strangers.

Nadir had waved and put on a friendly smile, determined to make a good first impression for both the sake of himself and his wife. He was tired of feeling like an outsider. "Good morning," he stated, attempting to get rid of as much of his accent as possible. "We recently moved here and were just looking around the area. "

"Oh!" She put on a hesitant smile and slowly walked over, perhaps put at ease by the fact that Hamideh accompanied him. "Well, welcome. My name is Madeleine...or Maddy."

"Nadir," he replied. "And this is my wife, Hamideh. She is not quite fluent in French yet. We are from Iran."

"Oh. I see. Well, now that's just fine. She'll learn quickly. I can only speak one language, really. Trenton-my husband- now he can speak three or four. I asked him how he could possibly fit all those words into his head. Of course, he is originally from England so maybe it's not quite as difficult."

Nadir had chuckled. The tiny woman was surprisingly gregarious, her voice light and chirpy. "Maybe it is not. May I ask what your husband does? There is little work around these parts."

Her face suddenly lit up with pride. "He's an architect, actually. Not here, though. He travels all around Europe working on bridges and buildings, even a skyscraper this last spring." She paused as if in thought. "You should really meet him. He travels so often that you may not get another chance." Before Nadir could protest, Maddy had turned around and was calling toward the upstairs window of her home. "Trenton, darling! Come out here now!" She waited a moment, before sighing in irritation. "_Trenton!_" she more or less screeched.

Nadir had winced, not believing he'd ever heard a woman get her voice so high. Hamideh softly laughed beside him at the spectacle. What would a man do if his wife had screamed at him in such a way back in Iran?

"What in God's name, Maddy?" A dark-haired man stuck his head out the wooden door and squinted in the late morning sunlight.

"We have guests! Come meet them!"

"Oh!" He came out rubbing his brownish eyes and yawning, his white dress shirt and grey pants wrinkled as though having quickly been thrown on. He was slightly above average height and likely reaching his later twenties, his skin darker from the remnants of a summer tan. His chin was narrow and his cheekbones were high, giving him a sort of aristocratic appearance. Nadir could see why Maddy had pride in him, as they made a rather appealing couple, a sort of magazine-cover couple. "I'm sorry. It is nice to meet you. You'll have to excuse my appearance, as I've been traveling most of the night."

"He just came back from Sweden!" Maddy exclaimed, taking his hand and bringing him beside her. "I only wish he would work a little closer. They are building industry around here. An enormous factory of some kind, even. I keep thinking he could get a job with them."

"I do not think they'd have much use for an architect, love," he said with uncomfortable humor, as thought they'd had the conversation on more than one occasion. "And I don't think I'd have much use for them." Trenton abruptly cleared his throat and turned back to Nadir. "It's nice to meet you," he repeated. "I take it you come from a distance...Mr...?"

"Khan," he finished. "Nadir Khan. And yes, we both come from Iran. We needed some...time away from there. It is nice to meet you as well. I'm sorry to have disturbed you this morning."

"Oh, do not be sorry. We rarely see any of our neighbors around here. It's a shame how distant everyone is."

Nadir nodded. "It...seems to be a nice area, though."

Trenton rubbed his chin and looked around at the empty grassy fields. "Yes. It is very...calm, I guess. A little dull sometimes. But I was raised in the middle of a city, so I may be biased." He chuckled good-naturedly. "But welcome to the area."

"Yes! Welcome!" exclaimed Madeleine with another radiant smile. "You both will have to come over some time."

After a few more bits of cordial conversation, Nadir had turned to leave, feeling somewhat pleased with himself for taking the initiative to get acquainted with people. A bit of his pride had been returned to him. Hamideh suddenly whispered something into his ear, and he turned back around. "Oh! My wife wishes to know if you have children."

Maddy turned and looked back as she and her husband retreated hand-in-hand toward the stone house. "Oh no. Not yet, I'm afraid."

"We _are_ working on the task, though!"

"Trenton!" She flushed bright red as they headed indoors.

_That was the first and last time Nadir ever saw the man._ Trenton had died two months later in a tragic railway accident somewhere in Germany, but not before leaving his wife one month pregnant. Maddy was never really the same afterwards. Nadir couldn't help but feel that there had been a rift between them, though. Trenton was an ambitious, restless young man who wanted to see the world. He had been sufficiently educated in England's finest schools and wasn't content to a life on the countryside away from the happenings of the modern era. Maddy had grown up there. Generations of her family had been raised in that house, and so she was not able to part with it. Nevertheless, the couple had been in love, and his death brought a constant shadow upon her face and threatened her sanity. Her hopes for happiness rested with the child, in whom Nadir could only assume she hoped to see the likeness of her deceased husband.

Nadir glanced up and checked his watch, preparing to go to bed and attempt to get some well-needed rest. He looked down toward the desk for a moment. Frowning, he moved the book and papers aside and scanned the tabletop carefully. There was no question about it, though. The hair clip had vanished. Perhaps it was in more appreciative hands now.

He sighed.

Hopes for happiness. There was little hope for him, and really none for his masked comrade. That was what had led them there, wasn't it? Hopelessness. Especially for Erik. At least Nadir had known happiness, had known a mother's love and a woman's affection. But for Erik...there was really nothing. And when all is lost, what do you do? You either lie down and die...or you ensure that others suffer with you, take your revenge on those that brought you to your miserable state. When there's nothing left, what else can you do?

And perhaps Nadir would have been content to give up after everything, to retire somewhere secluded and enjoy nature. He had mainly made this journey for Erik, despite the fact that he had his own kindled anger that was directed toward these people. When Erik had come to him after ten years of confinement, a tortured shadow of hatred, Nadir had felt sickened. And, to some degree, Mr. Khan had blamed himself.

He sighed again and lay down onto the stiff mattress, hearing it creak beneath his weight.

Frederick Oliver was next. An unusual glare crossed Nadir's tired features. Even his growing conscience could not feel remorse for that man's coming demise.

* * *

"You do realize that you are only here because of very unusual circumstances. The first being you exited with extremely good standing and quite a few connections in the Fine Arts department. The second being...your unusual incident this spring. Although I'm sure you do not wish to delve into it, it touched many of us emotionally. Still, the circumstances are very strange." The older man looked over his thick-framed glasses and folded his wrinkled hands atop the rectangular table. Somewhere in the background, several air conditioners hummed and a clock ticked. The faint smell of sea-salt wafted through the small room. 

"I know. I...Thank you for the opportunity. I'm very grateful...that you even allowed it so late into the summer."

He nodded once. "You do realize that you may not make it through this audition. We admitted you the first time because you had obvious talent and an excellent academic record. Although the latter still stands, your voice may not be up to par anymore. You might be disappointed with your ability, and we cannot just overlook it when very talented applicants were rejected this year."

She nodded, her blue eyes drifting to the lime-green linoleum tiles. Still, she made no move to step backward in defeat. "I understand. I'll just do my best."

"And what will you do if you are not readmitted into the music program? Do you have other plans?"

A small smile formed upon her lips, and her gaze drifted upwards again. "I'll go back home and marry a wonderful man." She paused and inhaled, as if forcing herself forward and toward something unknown. "But...but I had to try today. I'd regret it if I didn't."

The firm expression on the man's face faded, and he kindly smiled back. His greenish eyes softened slightly. "Very well, Ms. Daae. I won't lecture you any longer. You've been through enough, eh?" He shuffled some papers together. "Let's get started. Let's see what you can do."


	17. Christine

Hi guys! Thanks to all who reviewed. The chapter got the response I wanted of both some sadness and some hope. Unfortunately, there is not much Erik in this chapter. I promise that the next one will have him, though. And he is in everyone's thoughts... ;) Also, this is the last jump in time I'll have for awhile.

Quick Note: The page breaker was not working. Hence, the line of o's.

**Read and Review!**

_September_

It was the rumble of thunder that awoke her that morning. Then again, her sleep had not been deep or satisfying for the past several months, always sprinkled with shadowy dreams that she could never recall after awakening. Christine abruptly sat up in bed and looked toward the half-open window. The sky was still dark, occasionally illuminated with a distant flash of lightning. She could smell rain in the air, likely a colder rain that would welcome in autumn.

Looking to the side, she checked the digital alarm clock to see that it was barely past five in the morning. Sighing, she realized that sleep was not going to return so easily and climbed out from beneath the warmth of the cotton comforter. On her way to the window, Christine bumped her knee into a chair leg and released a soft groan of pain. From directly behind her came the creak of a bed moving and a soft murmur of annoyance. She guiltily glanced backward, before continuing to the wooden chair that was situated beside the window. Sitting down and looking outside, Christine felt cold, damp air brush against her cheeks. She leaned her forehead against the cool glass.

Summer was quickly fading away, but the memories that the warmer season had brought would not leave with it.

The days following her release from captivity were one gigantic blur of strange faces, of brightly lit rooms and camera flashes. Law enforcement agents had questioned her for hours upon hours, wanting to know every single detail about her ordeal...from exact descriptions of her kidnapers' faces to every tidbit of conversation she had overheard. Days later, Christine would look back and wonder why she was so closed-mouthed during the interrogations, only offering the most insignificant amounts of information. Finally, the police had given up and turned to her fiancé for answers, likely diagnosing her as too traumatized to remember anything of use.

The media had also chased after them for several weeks. It was rare that anyone survived such an event, and so the press was very interested in the happy-ending story. She and Raoul had given a few brief interviews before declining the rest, both of them just wanting time to collect their sanity and recover. For the first couple of weeks of freedom, Christine had tightly clung to her fiance's side. Her mind was too cluttered for her to properly function. The press and the police were somewhat intimidating, and she had felt that need to hide again, just as she had after her father died. Days after Phillip's funeral in early July, Raoul had begun talking about the wedding again, repeatedly stating that he wanted to get all of this behind him and move forward. She had quietly nodded in agreement, quickly embracing the idea of being safely hidden and married to her beloved within the large home. _Safe...safe...safe..._That was all she could think about.

As the police and media drifted away, though, she was able to collect her thoughts again. Especially during the quiet of the night, memories began to plague her mind. Some of them went far back to when her father was alive, and others were of more recent events. It was a slow and gradual epiphany, a growing need for something that she was suddenly beginning to miss. An empty and hollow feeling began to threaten her, one that she knew was not going to quickly disappear.

One night, as she slept within the house that she and her father once shared, Christine woke with a start and sat straight up in bed. A violin had been playing. No. No. Just a dream, of course. As she had settled back under the covers, her heart still throbbing and her hands trembling, an idea began to take shape in her mind. This was something that she could not hide from, could not escape. That realization was both terrifying and liberating.

The following afternoon, she had phoned Meg. Her friend had been extremely supportive over her first weeks out of captivity. They had cried together for a few minutes during their reunion. Afterwards, Meg continued to offer words of comfort and advice but was never nosy or overbearing. Christine trusted her to hear the decision first, and to give an honest opinion.

"I think I need to do something," she'd vaguely stated into the receiver, feeling a nervous churning in her stomach. Once she said it out loud, there would be no going back.

"What?" Meg had asked in confusion.

"I'm..." She took a breath. "I'm thinking of trying to get back into the university. To sing again. I think I'm going to call for an audition."

A brief period of silence had followed. Christine had anxiously twisted the coiled cord of the phone around her finger. "Wow," finally murmured Meg. "That's...great. I would think you'd want to curl up inside your house and never come out again after...all that happened."

Christine now paused. "That's just what I don't want to do, Meg. I don't want to hide forever anymore. I love Raoul. I really do. But I think...I think that I'd get angry at myself sooner or later. I think that if I don't at least try for this, I'm going to regret it later. And if it doesn't work out...well...then it just doesn't."

"Yeah!" Meg had agreed in a lighthearted voice. "Maybe it would be better if you got out for a while. I mean...I'm not a therapist, but you're right. You can't be afraid forever."

"Thanks, Meg! That's what I think. That's why I want to do this."

"Yeah. You always did have a lot of talent, Christine. Except...do you still think you can sing like you did? Doesn't the voice...like...deteriorate after it's not used for a while?"

Christine had laughed, her first real laugh in some time. "I'm actually not worried about that one! But we'll see. I just want to try."

Meg had laughed as well, sounding a little bewildered at the entire situation. "Hey...Chris...you sound really great after everything that happened. I'm glad for you. I think I would have been permanently traumatized after that."

She was silent for another moment. "It was scary...sometimes," she truthfully replied. "But...But I think that people have gone through a lot worse than I ever did in that kind of situation. In fact..." Christine paused again, attempting to find clarity. "I think I was even...lucky in some ways...if you could call it that."

"Wow..." was all Meg had murmured. "Wow."

Of course, Raoul hadn't been happy with her decision. He'd been quieter lately, still kind-natured but more edgy than before. That was to be expected, although Christine wished that they could feel comfortable talking about their ordeal together. They'd both been offered professional counseling but had declined it, just wanting to keep to themselves for a while. She couldn't help but wonder if Raoul should have accepted it. After all, his situation had been worse than hers.

She felt horribly guilty as she approached him in his dining room one evening, almost changing her mind at the sight of the hurt in his eyes after she told him. Still, something had pushed her forward. There was no turning back now.

"I'm sorry," she'd said, taking his hand. "I just...I have to do this. For myself. If I don't, I think I'll end up making both of us miserable. Please understand."

"But _why_?" he had asked, the frustration evident in his voice. "Why now? After everything? After all we've been through."

"It's just something I really need right now. It was my dream for so long...and I just...don't want to give it up now. I'm so sorry. I don't want to hurt you."

"Does this have to do with _him?_" Her fiancé looked as though he regretted the question after it was out of his mouth.

Her eyes had widened in surprise. They had rarely spoken of the incident, and not at all of her masked instructor. "What? No...no. It doesn't! This is for me, Raoul. It had nothing to do with...anything else. It's just me."

He didn't look convinced. "Well, it's your choice," he said with resignation. "I can't stop you. I...I support you, if that's what you really want to do, Christine."

She'd smiled and embraced him. "Thank you. I don't even know if it will work out, Raoul. And when...when it's over, we can get married. I might not even get back into the school."

He'd just nodded and silently returned her hug. Their conversations were limited and cordial over the next few weeks. She knew that nothing she could say would make it better, would fix the slight gap that was now between them. Guilt still plagued her. How could she do this to him after all that happened? Still, something continued to draw her forward, onto an airplane and back into the halls of Boston University for a voice audition. The audition had been difficult to obtain that late into the year, and she'd only succeeded because she'd left the school on good terms. They had made that quite clear on the phone. At times, she wondered if maybe she wasn't meant to sing again. A memory returned to her, though.

_But you have the ability to force people to notice you, Christine! Why do you resist it? It is yours to have!_

Ignoring the elderly professor's cold words of discouragement on the day of her audition, she had sung to the best of her ability, one of Bastienne's arias. All of her time spent in that strange dining room was put to good use, all the technique and effort were put into her voice. She had closed her eyes at times, forgetting that she was in a brick building in the middle of a city. Her vocal chords never once felt strained, as the song was almost second nature now.

When she had finished the piece, she returned to earth and looked up to see the man just staring at her with his mouth slightly agape. He finally blinked and reached down to grab something from the table, only clutching empty air in the process. He blinked again in confusion.

"It...It rolled under the table," Christine softly stated, still slightly out of breath and trying to hide a smile. "The pen."

"Oh!" Finally gathering his bearings, he had reached under the table and scooped it up into his fingers. Sitting upright in the chair, he folded his hands together, a slight look of surprise still on his face. "I...Ms. Daae...how in the world did you get better in your absence from this school? Where did you learn to sing like that?"

She diverted her eyes to the floor but remained calm. "I had some private lessons. And practiced on my own a lot."

"Lessons from _who_? _Andrea Bocelli_?"

Christine had forced a laugh from her throat. "Something like that..."

"Well..." He had adjusted his glasses. "I hope you don't mind staying single for a while longer. We would be...very pleased if you returned to us, Ms. Daae. With your scholarships, of course. It is obvious that music means a great deal to you."

And with a handshake, everything was suddenly set. The decision was made, and her path was chosen. She had quickly packed her possessions, said her goodbyes, and headed for New England. In her last weeks at home, Christine had constantly reassured Raoul that everything would be fine, that she would see him during her breaks...that this would be better for both of them. Maybe he even needed some time to himself after all that had happened. Her fiancé had wearily nodded and wished her well. Meg had given her a long hug and an excited squeal, commanding her to call at least once a week. Within less than half a year, everything had changed.

Although her path was now clearer, though, there were still uncertainties that she hid in the back of her mind. There were thoughts that she didn't have the courage to dwell on yet, and questions that could never be answered. She was still afraid and confused sometimes, although her confidence was still higher than it had ever been. She did allow herself to wonder, though. She often wondered what had become of the three men. Of Nadir and Darius...and, of course, _Erik_.

And she knew now why she had given the police so little information. She had never wanted them to be captured. Despite everything, she had wanted them to escape and be safe. There was no denying that.

Her head hurt, as it always did when she dwelt on things for too long. She quickly pushed the thoughts away, not wanting to feel stress when she had her morning classes to think about. She wanted her mind to be clear, although it never really seemed to be anymore.

A bed creaked again from behind her as the hour neared six. A sigh followed. "Is it raining?" enquired a groggy voice.

Christine turned around. "Yeah," she softly replied. "Just a little bit."

Another groan of annoyance. "Wonderful."

Christine smiled a little and shook her head.

Her poor roommate.

The girl was likely wondering what she had ever done to deserve the cruel fate of being boarded with an insomniac.

**ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo**

Nadir supposed that it was boredom that led him to aimlessly wander through the empty rooms of the flat that evening. Darius was likely out exploring the town or getting a drink. Erik...well...Allah only knew what Erik did during these hours. He was always either slinking through the darkness or locked up in one of the two bedrooms with his music.

They had been there for several weeks now, hidden on the outskirts of London in an aging flat. At the moment, they were actually paying for their boarding, although they might very well be gone by the time the first rent was due. Hiding in crowded London suburbs was not as easy as in America where empty space was still plentiful. Erik had decided they would be better concealed in a legitimate place, as seeking refuge in an abandoned building might arouse even more suspicion.

Since their arrival, they had continuously been waiting and watching, attempting to determine the exact location of Frederick Oliver. Nadir was beginning to wonder if the man had left the country. Frederick was not inept and likely knew that he would be next on the list, especially now that Phillip was dead and Raoul was safe. It was becoming frustrating, and Erik was now focusing his cold attentions on Frederick's boisterous niece.

Carlotta Glouer was a classically trained soprano who was slowly moving her way up into stardom. She'd recently even earned herself a medium-sized role at The Royal Opera House, although much of her fame came from several soloist recordings that had been forced onto the public over the last year. The woman obviously had some prominent connections, along with her talent. She was also attractive by most standards, a lovely face to put on billboards and magazine covers.

Nadir still didn't know what Erik's plans were, and he rarely asked. If his masked comrade ever got his hands on Ms. Glouer, though, Nadir did not see how the situation would be favorable. Like Frederick Oliver, Carlotta had an arrogance about her which Erik already greatly despised. Mr. Khan could not see him hesitating to kill her if it came to that.

He slowly wandered into the next room with his hands folded behind his back. An unpleasant feeling was building inside of him, and he suddenly wished for all of this to just end. But then what? He was getting older, nearing sixty, and had no qualms with retiring somewhere for the rest of his life. He could leave at any time. But what of Erik? His masked friend had repeatedly stated that he would be quite ready to die when it was all over. Nadir sometimes wondered if he was referring to his ailment...or suicide. The latter seemed more likely. Erik didn't like to put things into the hands of fate.

He realized that he had mindlessly entered Erik's room. The covers on the cot were made and untouched, likely even unused, as his masked friend rarely slept. The black violin case sat atop the desk in the room. Beside it were stacks of papers and an ink pen. Curiosity getting the better of him, Nadir flipped through the papers. Those on top just had some names and phone numbers scribbled in red ink. The ones on the bottom were music sheets.

Nadir started to set them back down, seeing the red ink and believing them to just be part of Erik's so-called masterpiece. Several sheets of paper that were folded at the middle caught his eye, though. They looked as though something was stuffed between them. He curiously unfolded the papers, and his eyes widened in surprise. They were music sheets, and between them was the hair clip.

This was a different work of music as well. At the top of the first sheet, a single word was clearly written in rather careful calligraphy. _Christine_. Mr. Khan was momentarily confused, before realizing that her name was the title of the composition. There were no other words, just measures and measures of notes. From what little he could read of music, he thought it was a smoother and slower piece.

Nadir tiredly rubbed his forehead., continuing to blankly stare down at the composition. His masked comrade's feelings for the girl had run deeper than he had ever imagined. And maybe he had been a fool for believing that Erik was no longer capable of such emotions. After all, Erik was just a man in the end.

He had entered the world just like any other man, hadn't he? Perhaps not.

_After Trenton had perished in the accident, Nadir and Hamideh made it a habit to frequently visit Maddy. _They would bring her food, delicious dishes from their homeland, along with other small comforts and gifts for the coming child. She showed them her home, which contained antiques and porcelain trinkets from her family, along with a vast variety of books that had belonged to her husband. The sitting room also had a grand piano that Madeleine occasionally played with great elegance. Maddy was their only real friend around the area, and she seemed happy with their company over the next nine months. She often talked of the child, determined to name it after her husband if it was a boy or after her own mother if it was a girl. She sewed things often, also collecting a nice array of baby necessities from distant friends and relatives. Her life became centered on the child.

Early on in her pregnancy, Maddy had decided to deliver by midwife. Hospitals were only located far away in the cities, and all of her other close relatives had made the same decision. She stated that she didn't want doctors prodding and poking at her insides. She wanted to be at home with only another female there.

Hamideh had frowned at the revelation "When I am with child," she had later told Nadir, "I will go to a hospital." He had quickly agreed.

When late spring came and the baby was due for delivery, he and Hamideh kept their distance from Maddy. They didn't want to trouble a new mother, and they assumed she would have relatives with her to help. It was a lonelier time, as the couple still knew few people around the area, only leaving the house for grocery items at the small store in a nearby town. Had it not been for Madeleine, they would have remained completely isolated.

They patiently waited for word to come of the child's delivery. A month passed, and nothing came. Two months passed with nothing. Finally, Nadir had decided to pay her a visit, if nothing more than to check on her well-being. Hamideh had come down with a small virus and decided to stay home, telling Nadir to send Maddy her best.

He had arrived at the house and knocked upon the wooden door, hearing the hollow echo on the inside. Around twenty seconds passed, and there was no response. Frowning, Nadir tried again, this time with a bit more force. Another few seconds had passed until the door finally opened. He almost gasped in horrific surprise. It was Madeleine, but she had looked more like a ghost of her former self. Her face was pale and drawn in. Dark, almost black, circles ringed her brown eyes, and her once bouncy curls were limp and matted at the sides of her face. "Maddy," he murmured in shock.

She had blinked at him several times, as though she didn't recognize him. "Nadir," she stated after a moment, her tone devoid of emotion.

He cleared his throat and quickly composed himself. "Good morning, Maddy. I was just coming by to check on you. It has been a long time since we have seen you. How are you? How is the child?"

Her top lip quivered, and her gaze turned toward the ground "I am fine," she dully stated. "And the child...the child is dead. There is no child._ It _is dead."

Nadir's mouth fell open, and he reached out a hand in a gesture of comfort. "Oh, Madeleine. You have my deepest sympathies. I am so terribly sorry. If we had known that, we would have visited sooner."

Her head snapped up, and she drew away from him. "It is no matter," she bluntly replied. "I am fine. All is well."

"Surely there is something I can do," he stated, wondering if her anger was directed at their hesitance to visit her. "My wife and I would enjoy having you at our home..."

"No!" she nearly growled. "I am just fine! Please. Do not bother me anymore! I am fine."

"But Maddy..."

"I said to leave!" she yelled. "I am fine. You are not welcome here anymore! Leave!" She disappeared, slamming the door in his face in the process.

Nadir had stood on the steps in stunned silence, feeling confused and almost emotionally wounded. He slowly turned around and descended the stairs. Somewhere, he swore he heard the cry of an infant, but perhaps it was the howl of the warm wind sweeping through the branches of the trees.

That evening, after quiet contemplation, he confronted his wife in the tiny sitting area. "I wish to leave this place," he somberly stated. "There is nothing for us here. Let us try the city again. I want to leave soon. If need be, we will return to the country whenever we wish to escape the crowds."

Hamideh looked as though she were attempting to hide a frown. She slowly nodded. "If you think that is best," she softly stated. "I...enjoy the peace. But...it would be better for your work. Yes. Maybe it is time that we leave."

And they did. Weeks later, they packed their few belongings and headed for Paris. Chemists were needed in many of the new industries, and Nadir hoped he could find a steady job. He had forced all thoughts of Maddy from his mind. It certainly wasn't his problem. She would simply have to wallow in her loneliness...in that house all by herself. _He had been sure that there was no reason for her to act so cruelly. _

Nadir looked up as the front door of the flat suddenly opened and shut. He folded the hair clip back into the music sheets and stacked them all together, silently praying that Erik would not notice anything amiss. He quickly left the room and entered the tiny sitting area, where a pair of yellow eyes immediately met his. "Erik," he greeted. Nadir had started using his first name more often.

"Prepare to depart within the next few weeks. Ms. Glouer is hosting a party, and I intend to attend."

Nadir's eyes widened, but he slowly nodded. "Very well."

"And Nadir..."

"Yes?"

"If you enter _my _chamber again, you will find yourself in the most unpleasant of circumstances. Did Buquet not make a fine example of what happens to those who dare to defy me?"

Erik did not wait for a response, going into the room and firmly shutting the door behind him. The violin smoothly played in legato style, and Nadir could only guess that he was now hearing the music entitled _Christine_.


	18. Lives Entwined

Hello guys! I'm glad that everyone is still enjoying. I've really enjoyed reading your reviews on the second part of the story. This is the last chapter I'll likely get out before school starts, and then I'm not sure if I'll keep the same pace with updates or not. Also, someone noticed that this was going to be a long story, and that is likely true. There's a lot to attend to. If it gets too long, I might break it up into a sequel. Not too much to say about this chapter. Chapter 19, however, will be a bit pivotal.

**Read and Review!**

The Mediterranean Sea sparkled bright blue in the light of the descending sun, the water rippling in the breeze. Tourists lay their colorful beach towels out on the sand, attempting to obtain one last day of sunbathing before the cooler weather arrived. In the distance, red brick buildings and whitewashed hotels shaped the skyline.

Frederick Oliver sat in a deck chair upon a porch in the Costa del Sol of Southern Spain; many, many miles away from his residence in London. He peered over his sunglasses as some younger women in revealing bikinis passed by him on their way to the shore. They looked toward him, likely to express disgust that someone nearing sixty-five would dare gawk at them. But with one glance at his clothing and poise, it was very obvious that he was an extremely wealthy man, and their frowns quickly changed to humbled smiles. He ignored them now and leaned back into the chair, stretching his arms above his head with a smug yawn.

Outside of a few chirping exotic birds and the dull crash of the waves, there was little noise. He yawned a second time, before reaching for his cellular phone. As much as he wanted to just sleep in this paradise, the call needed to be made now, before any other events progressed forward. Frederick rubbed his lightly stubbled chin and lay back as the phone rang twice on the other end. A younger male soon answered. "Hello?"

"Good afternoon. Would this be Mr. Raoul de Chagny?"

There was a hesitant pause on the other end. Perhaps the boy still thought the press was after him. Or maybe the London accent puzzled him. Whatever the reason, de Chagny was cautious. Frederick sat up straighter, knowing that he would have to handle this carefully. "It is," finally came a reply. "How can I help you?"

"Ah. Excellent. This happens to be a good friend of your father's. And of your brother, to some degree. I was just calling to express my deepest condolences for his passing several months ago. And also...to express my relief for your well-being. I would have phoned sooner, but I figured you needed some time to yourself. You always had my deepest sympathies."

"I see. Thank you for your concern." His voice was still uncertain. "Um...I'm sorry. I didn't get your name."

"My apologies. Frederick Oliver. I live in England...worked with your father for some time. We had some great years together." He gave a hearty laugh, tapping the fingers of his other hand against the handle of the reclining chair.

"Oh. I think I may have heard your name mentioned once or twice." An awkward pause followed. "Thank you for calling." Some static crackled over the line.

"Of course. I was happy to. I wanted to see how you were handling everything, felt it was my duty to ensure that Louis' only surviving son was in good health." He paused, hoping the next question was not coming too soon. "You have...inherited everything from your brother, I assume?"

"I have." Now he sounded suspicious. _Damn._

Frederick carefully crafted his next words. "Very good! Make sure you keep it all with you. If anyone tries to talk you away from your money, you give me a call! I will set them straight. There are a lot of crooks out there, my boy! Best we stick together." He laughed again.

"I will...Mr. Oliver..."

"Call me Frederick! Your father called me Fred, for God's sake. We're like old friends! It's a pity we didn't get in touch sooner."

"Frederick, then. I...Everything is fine at the moment. I don't...see any problems. The inheritance went smoothly."

"Good. Good. I'm sure you're very capable at handling such matters." He paused. "Well...I won't take much of your time...just another quick question." Frederick decided to be direct. He knew de Chagny was likely looking for an excuse to hang up as fast as possibly. He needed to ask now.

"Yes?"

"Tell me, Raoul," began Frederick, lowering his voice. "While you were in that awful place...afraid for your very life...you encountered a man in a mask? Correct?"

"_What?_ Why?"

"Calm down, my friend. I'll explain in a moment. Did you, though?"

"Yes. But..." He sounded on edge now.

Frederick hurried along. "And did you ever get a look under that mask? Did you ever see his face?"

"No. I didn't! But what does that have to do with anything..."

"Did your lovely fiancee?" he interrupted.

Raoul hesitated. "I...don't know," he dully replied. "She never told me if she did."

Frederick chuckled. "She didn't, then. Believe me, you would have heard the girl scream from a mile away if she had, bless her little heart. Well, that's a shame. It would have been of good use, despite causing a few nightmares."

"Look...Mr. Oliver. Frederick," Raoul began with obvious disdain. "Thank you for your concern. I think I should be going now. I need to get back to work."

"Wait. Wait. Just another second. Just another second. You see, I have...quite a bit of common interest with you regarding the circumstances. You might say that I'm the next target of our murderous friend. But, to be frank, I enjoy playing offense."

"_What?"_

_Now he had his attention!_ It was time to be quick. "I believe I will get to _them_ before they get to me, you see. I won't go into details, as we're both busy men. But...if I did manage to apprehend your captors alive, I'm sure you would be willing to help identify them? To stop this madness before more innocent lives are taken? "

A long silence followed on the other end. "If you really think...you really think you have them. Then, yes. Of course I'll help. But how do you know..."

"And your fiancee?" he quickly interrupted. "Will she lend a hand? Surely she despises this..._thing_ that doesn't seem to go away? Lovely girl, by the way."

Raoul paused again. "She is... out of town right now." His voice sounded a bit downtrodden. "But I'm sure Christine will help however she can. But how do you even know..."

"Wonderful! We will stop this nightmare together. I knew I could count on Louis de Chagny's son, eh? Well, I will let you go now. We're both busy men, as I said. Have a good afternoon! Once again, my deepest condolences. Take care!"

Frederick hung up the phone without waiting for the boy's response and leaned back. He didn't need a detailed conversation, just a promise of cooperation. That was enough for now, better than enough.

In the end, it seemed that his niece's public visibility had proven to be handy. Nothing wrong with a bit of bait, after all. And Carlotta was perfect bait.

It still puzzled him as to why the lives of de Chagny and his fiancee had been spared. Strategically, it was a stupid move. Had the masked fiend killed them and quickly disposed of the bodies, he could have left the United States and silently attacked. By allowing them to live, he had given away his exact location on a certain date in June. And, of course, his next target would be England. Frederick had been prepared ever since, and ground was slowly being made. Sightings in London, it seemed.

_What had caused such stupidity? _mused Oliver. _Why were Ms. Daae and Mr. de Chagny not six feet under the ground by now? They had been clear witnesses. _The monster could have won if not for that foolish move.

It was certainly something to ponder.

**OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO**

He hated London, as he hated most cities. He despised the crowds, the noise, and the smoggy air that weighed down heavily upon his lungs. Most of all, he loathed the humidity. It seemed to seep inside his mask, making the porcelain cling and stick to his bone-dry flesh. Although he desired solitude for more than several reasons, one motive was just to remove the covering from his face for a few minutes. He did so now, his back always to the door of the room in case someone would enter. His face momentarily stung as the cooler air touched it, particularly where the mask had rubbed sores into his death's skin.

He ignored the pain. Compared to certain experiences, the discomfort was trivial. After setting the mask on the desk with the face upwards, he stared down at the noticeably skewed sheets of music and glared with cold contempt. Not only had Mr. Khan entered his room, but he had also perused through his possessions. Whatever his intentions had been, Nadir was beginning to delve into dangerous areas. Ever since...

Yes...ever since her. Ever since her, Nadir had been crossing boundaries, intruding into undesirable areas. It was really_ his _own fault for allowing matters to slide since that night, for overlooking transgressions. _He _had spoken of things that he should have never said in front of anyone. A feeling of self-disgust overtook him for losing focus in those first days after he had allowed de Chagny to live. And still...still he had not found the level of concentration that he had once possessed. He needed that concentration again.

He had practically dragged himself out of North America, forcing himself away from all things that were connected to _her_. And no one knew, not even Nadir suspected, that he had come inches away from sweeping her away with him that evening in exchange for the boy's life. It had been a brief contemplation, present only in the moments that he had lightly touched her face...the first time he had made contact with another's warm flesh in decades. But the thought had been there, and for a horrible fleeting moment, he had been delusional enough to think that she might agree to come.

Of course, Buquet's entrance had shattered all ridiculous notions. She had run into the boy's arms at the very first chance she'd had, nothing but fear imprinted on her face. And he still could have killed de Chagny that night, had possessed all the adrenaline and hatred needed to do so after strangling Buquet. But those two wretched blue eyes had begged him for mercy, and he had not. He had not destroyed her. She was the only entity on earth that he hadn't desired to harm.

He removed the hair clip from the folds of the composition. On several occasions, he had attempted to dispose of it, was nearly ready to hurl it into a trash can fire that he had passed late one night on a solo walk through the slums. For some time, he had wanted to be rid of it. And yet, if anyone else now attempted to touch the object, he would gladly kill them. He considered ordering Nadir to bury it with him when that time came, along with the mask, of course. His two priceless possessions would be with him for eternity.

Did she have her one good thought as she'd promised, or did she loathe him? Did she tell her boy horror stories about him at night, how he had frightened her on more than one occasion? Did she still sing, or had she now come to associate her voice with the terrors of that house?

_Please let her still sing._

He had not ever searched for a marriage announcement, for he did not want to know the date. He wanted to know nothing of that, or anything else of her life now. Perhaps...perhaps on a night before a pivotal part of his mission was carried out, he would search for it. The knowledge would push his mind to a dangerous point, permit him to accomplish whatever he set out to do. He would watch Oliver swing from his neck...just as the other three had.

_It should have been four!_

The finality of knowing her wedding date would allow him to single-mindedly accomplish all that had to be done, just as his insanity had permitted him to escape his confinement. It was a rather powerful weapon, wasn't it?

But for now...as he was left waiting...waiting...he did not want to know. His mask stared up at him from the table with its empty, black eyes sockets. Still clutching the hair clip in one palm, he forced his mind toward a different direction. Oliver.

Before Oliver, though, he would have the pleasure of meeting Ms. Glouer. A bottle of chloroform was situated in a cabinet. Two syringes and a powerful sedative had been carefully stowed away for near usage. He still wasn't quite sure what dosage the woman would require, but trial and error was occasionally an acceptable strategy. _Good...good...he was focusing again. _As he always should have done. And not on her. _Not her!_

There was something wet falling down his cheek. He curled his fingers into claws and viciously scratched it away, leaving a mixture of skin flakes and dried blood embedded into his fingernails.

Not her.

**OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO**

Christine found that there was a certain comfort that came from routine. With time, the repetitive schedule would likely grow tedious. By winter vacation, she would probably be thrilled to take a break from school, to return home and see those that she loved. But at the present moment, her daily drone of classes was extremely therapeutic. A deep satisfaction also came from actually working toward a goal again. It was like taking a fresh breath of air whenever she opened her mouth to sing, to actually strive for something that she adored.

That's not to say that every moment there was pleasurable. She struggled with a couple of her classes, particularly Music Theory, and had stared at the text until she got a headache. The weather was often wet, and she knew that the winters there would be cold and snowy. Fear of getting lost within the massive city had kept her very close to campus. And, of course, she was occasionally lonely, especially on the weekends when a lot of people headed home.

At the moment, she didn't have any close friends. She talked to a few people in her classes, especially other vocal performance majors. There was an even-tempered guy named Gavin that she had met two years ago in an English class and ran into again at a café. They'd started chatting for a while with a certain amount of ease. Finally, she would occasionally converse with her roommate, a freshman named Jamie Pierce. Outside of sleeping differences, they got along fairly well. Jamie was heavily involved with several intramural sports, though, and was out most weekends and evenings with her teammates. Christine often had the room to herself.

But these things were normal. _And after everything I've been through, these problems are nothing. Not even problems. _Christine had reasoned to herself for some time.

One matter that Christine found she didn't have to worry about was people recognizing her from the television. Occasionally, she would catch someone giving her a curious glance or whispering to a friend while staring at her. For the most part, though, people either didn't know or didn't care. She was even more thankful that she and Raoul had avoided most of the interviews and photo opportunities.

It had been about three months now since the incident. She remembered the strangeness of her first days out of captivity, of walking freely in the sunshine down the streets, past other people. The task had been almost frightening in the beginning, and she'd gripped her fiance's hand during that first week. It was like stepping out of one world and into another, as though the events of that house had been in some other reality. But it had all been real. Her current location served as proof, as did her finely-tuned voice. Not to mention...the several tangible items she had kept from her stay there.

Although most of her first nights out of captivity were a blur, she remembered coming close to having a shouting match when the authorities had attempted to take the possessions away as evidence. Seeing the gathering moisture in her eyes, an investigator had finally sighed and spoken to his partner. "Just give the girl those things back," he'd muttered. "I already made a copy of the handwriting, and that's the only thing that's going to help us any." She'd indignantly walked away minutes later; tightly clutching the soft pair of slippers, the music sheets, and the mirror in her hands. They were all rightfully hers, weren't they?

Looking back, there was also an ornate hair clip with velvet trim that she'd wished she'd grabbed. She didn't really remember seeing it during her last visit to the little room, though.

These were the thoughts that were gathering in her head on a Thursday evening in late September, as she unlocked and opened the door to her room. It hadn't really been her first choice to adopt life in a dorm, but her scholarship had covered all boarding costs. She took whatever she could, avoiding asking anyone, even her fiancé, for financial help. After setting her backpack down in the empty room, she fell back onto her bed to mentally collect herself.

An odd sensation settled over her, something similar to nostalgia. Maybe the tug of homesickness? She checked the clock. Raoul would just be getting home from work, unless he was staying overtime or caught in traffic. Their conversations had been short lately, and Christine always felt guilty when she hung up the phone. She didn't know what else to say to him. _Give me a couple of years to figure myself out, and then we can get married. I'm sorry I'm such a mess. _The ornate ring glimmered on her finger.

After gnawing at her bottom lip for a moment, she picked up the phone and dialed Meg. That would cheer her up. "Hello?" answered her friend's lighthearted voice.

"Hey there!" Christine said, relaxing back against her pillow with a smile.

"Christine! I've been waiting for you to give me another call. How are you? How's school?"

"I'm good!" she replied. "Everything's fine. Staying busy with classes, I guess."

"Great! Have you gotten to sing yet?"

Christine laughed. "Just in my classes a little." That had actually being going very well. "They're some recitals toward the end of the semester that I might be a part of. We'll see. I'm just now figuring out where everything is. The last thing I need right now is to have a room full of people staring at me."

"I'm sure you'll be just fine." Meg paused. "After everything you've gone through, a room of people is nothing."

"Heh. Maybe you're right." Christine looked up as the door suddenly opened and her roommate walked in with a bulging duffel bag. They briefly nodded at each other in greeting. She lowered her voice a little.

"So..." Meg began again, likely sensing the conversation was heading in the wrong direction. "How are the people there? Have you met anyone interesting?"

"Just a couple," Christine replied. "One guy from when I used to go here. Gavin. He's also engaged...getting married this winter...so that kind of works out in a strange way. But other than that and a couple of girls in my classes, not really. I wish you were here."

Meg giggled. "So do I! They'd probably laugh at me if they saw my highschool grades, though. Anyway, you're still happy you went, right?"

"Yeah!" Christine replied with surprising ease. "I mean...it's a little lonely, sometimes. But...it's really nice to be working toward something. And singing again! I didn't realize how much I'd missed it until..." She paused. "I just didn't realize it until later."

"That's great," Meg replied. "I'll have to come visit."

"You will! I..."

"Oh!" Her roommate suddenly cursed, quickly drawing Christine's attention. She dropped the phone receiver from her ear and curiously looked up. Jamie gave her an apologetic glance. "I just spilt your glass of water...Or maybe it was mine. But it was on your desk. I'm so sorry!" She quickly ripped off some sheets of paper towel and started to blot at it.

Christine automatically prepared to tell her that it was no big deal, just a little water. Her eyes widened, though, as she saw that the liquid had begun to dribble down onto some music sheets that were stacked on the lower shelves built into the desk. And not just any music sheets. "I'll call you back, Meg! Sorry!" She quickly hung up the phone and jumped up with a gasp. She'd been glancing at the music the other day before one of her classes, trying to recall some of the techniques that she had been taught. _Why didn't I put them back into a folder?_

"I'm so sorry!" exclaimed Jamie again, as Christine attempted to rescue the papers. " I'm sure you can make new photocopies, though. They're just music sheets, right? I'll do it for you, if you want."

"No. No." She bent down and grabbed the stained sheets, before waving them in the air and attempting to keep the water from leaking down to the written words."I don't need the music. It's fine. These are just...they're...never mind. It's okay. I should have...put them somewhere else." She felt a lump form in her throat as the water neared the notes.

"I'm really sorry," pled Jamie, likely unnerved by her roommate's very distraught expression. "I...Here. Can I see them? Let me try something."

"I've got it," Christine replied, gripping onto the papers and attempting to keep an even temper "It's fine. It was my fault for leaving them there like that."

"Please let me just try. I have an idea. "

Christine hesitated, before wearily handing them over to her. "Please be careful," she couldn't help but murmur.

Jamie quickly took them over to the air duct and held them over the open vent. "Good thing they turned on the heat today, huh?" She smiled and looked down as she allowed the warmer air to blow over them. "They look like they've been used a lot. Are you sure you just can't make some more copies? I mean, I'll pay for the prints."

"It's not...just the music," Christine replied, as Jamie handed them back to her. She held them beneath the vent a moment longer. With relief, she saw that the red writing at the top had not been touched by the water. _Look over this. We will begin tomorrow. _"They're...it's...It's just..."

"Some kind of sentimental value or something?" her roommate finally guessed. "Like from a first performance? I keep things like that from some of my old teams."

Christine glanced up and managed a smile, grateful for at least a little common understanding. "Yeah! Something similar to that, I guess."

Jamie nodded. "If they mean that much to you, you should get them laminated. That'll keep the dirt off...stop them from ripping. Stop me from spilling anything else on them..."

She slowly nodded back, her eyes still upon the music sheets. Outside of a few small water stains, it looked as though the papers would be fine. A slight feeling of relief settled over her, and she suddenly felt embarrassed over her short outburst, her cheeks growing warm. _If they mean that much to you... _"Yeah. Maybe I will try that. Thanks!"

"No problem. And sorry about that."

"It's fine! Really. It was my fault. Thanks for helping."

After tying her dark brown hair into a pony tail and throwing on a sweatshirt, Jamie quickly left the room. _She's probably going to go tell her friends about her paranoid roommate. _

With a deep breath,Christine slowly took a seat back on her bed and set the music beside her on the comforter. Reaching for the phone, she started to give Meg another call, but, after a second's hesitation, withdrew her hand and lay back onto the pillow. A heavy feeling of exhaustion came over her, and she found herself drifting off to sleep instead, the continuous patter of rain against her window acting as a sort of lullaby.


	19. Clarity and Confusion

Hey guys! Thank you for the lovely reviews, as always. I'll try to start doing more replies. As stated, this chapter will push things forward a bit. Despite the lack of Erik, I hope you enjoy it. And, after this chapter, I can guarantee that there will be plenty with Erik ;)

**Read and Review!**

For the most part, Christine was able to concentrate on the tasks that lay right in front of her. She put her focuses on homework, singing, saving money, laundry, and anything else that was directly at hand. On the occasions that she and Raoul spoke, they talked only of the present, of the daily happenings at college or at work. Oddly, they didn't even speak of the future, for sometimes it seemed as foggy and uncertain as the past. No one ever asked her questions about her ordeal, likely thinking that she had been through some terrible trauma, and she offered them no information. Even Meg knew very little. As a result, most of her memories remained buried within her subconsciousness.

But there were always unexpected occasions when thoughts would not stay suppressed. They returned in the most innocent of ways and usually without warning. One afternoon, as she was walking through the corridor of a music building, a violin began playing in one of the practice rooms. The smooth and slow melody was that of _The Swan_. Clutching her books tightly against her chest, Christine suddenly found herself wandering down the empty hallway in search of the source. Looking back, it hadn't even been a conscious decision. She'd finally found a scrawny boy with shaggy dark-blonde hair playing the instrument and had stopped in the doorway to listen. Her eyes had momentarily closed.

"Can I help you?" he'd asked minutes later, shifting on the stool uncomfortably and appearing a little perturbed.

Her eyelids shot open. "No! Sorry! Just listening." She'd scampered away with a pounding heart.

Sometimes being around other people helped her to focus. She enjoyed going to her classes just so she could talk with other students and forget her own thoughts, although she tended to do more of the listening. Ever since the 'water' incident, she and Jamie had gossiped more, discussing everything from classes to their favorite movies. And then there was Gavin Lewis, who was still the closest thing she had to a real friend there.

She had found Gavin interesting to talk to in her short time there over two years ago, as he was intelligent but not snobbishly intellectual or overly-serious. He was about fifteen pounds overweight and just under six feet tall. A few faded freckles dotted his short nose, and his light brown hair fell just below his ears, giving him a more liberal appearance. She'd perhaps started to develop the very beginnings of a crush during the months right before she left to care for her ailing father. Honestly, though, she hadn't thought about him once since that long ago time, classifying him as just another part of what she'd left behind. Coming back, though, it was nice to see a familiar face. There was also a slight comfort in that they were both engaged to be married and content to be friends. Gavin was amusingly enamored with his Brazilian fiancee.

"Isn't that a great picture of her?" he mused, pulling out a small photo from his wallet. They were both sitting at a crowded café before their morning classes, catching up on some reading before exam time. A slender girl with big brown eyes and a crooked smile stared up from the picture, her ears adorned with dangling silver earrings.

Christine looked up from her textbook and laughed. "Yeah. She looks really nice."

"She's a godsend. I can't wait to get past all this crazy wedding planning and just marry her. Her family is more traditional, though, and we're stuck with a massive ceremony."

"This January, right?" she asked, attempting to keep a conversation going.

"Yeah. January twelfth, assuming all the relatives don't decide to change the day." He tucked the photo away. "And how about you? When's your big day?"

She blinked and took a sip of coffee. "Oh. I...We haven't really set a date yet. Things got a little confusing this last year, so it's kind of postponed." Her gaze drifted to the engagement ring for a moment.

Gavin laughed. "You'd better hurry. I'm sure there are a ton of ladies that would love to be the next Countess. Or is it still a Viscountess?" He shrugged.

She forced a laugh. "You know what?" she slowly began, leaning into the table slightly. "I didn't even know that I was marrying into nobility until I saw it in all the papers and on the news this summer. I mean, I knew that his father was important. But...no one ever told me that Raoul was a Viscount. He apologized for not telling me, but...it was still kind of surprising."

"Wow. Well...I guess that kind of thing isn't really important in this country. It's not a big deal, I guess."

Christine frowned and stared down at her reflection in the Styrofoam cup, wincing slightly as someone bumped against the back of her chair. "It is a big deal. Well, that part's not, I guess. But...I feel like I never know what's going on sometimes. All of these strange things happen to me, and I never understand any of it."

He shifted, perhaps finding the conversation to be a bit too deep for that early in the morning. She realized that Gavin also had little idea of what she was talking about, outside of the vague details given by the press. "I'm sure you could find some information about the de Chagnys somewhere, if that's what you want," he finally replied. "I think...they owned quite a bit of property. Maybe some businesses. It's hard for me to remember. I read an article on it several years ago, something about aristocrats in the U.S."

"Yeah." She thoughtfully nodded. "I guess I could do that." Gavin went back to his textbook, and she just stared into space for a moment. "Hey..." she softly began. Her eyes suddenly focused on an obscure crack in the middle of the circular table. The noise in the café seemed to fade into the background. "It...it would be pretty much impossible to find someone if you only knew their first name, right? I mean...to search for information on them."

Gavin looked up. "Yeah. Unless they had a really unusual first name. And you knew everything else about them. Why?"

"Nothing," she murmured. "Just something for a class project."

"Oh. What's the name?"

"It doesn't matter." She swallowed. "The name would be too common. I wouldn't find anything."

"Don't ever tease a journalism major, Christine. We never give up." He laughed good-naturedly. "You're turning bright red. What's wrong? What's the name?"

She hadn't said it out loud to anyone. Ever. She could lie and say another name. But what would it hurt right now? What did it matter if she said the name? It was just a name, wasn't it? "Erik," she stated, the syllables rolling thickly off her tongue. The word sounded strange in this normal location, as though it were out of place amongst the throngs of students. "Erik," she softly repeated.

"Yeah." He unknowingly nodded. "Way too common of a name to find."

She nodded back and quickly opened her book, staring down at the words without even reading them. Slight relief traveled through her, though. She'd had this horrible vision of Gavin jumping up from his seat and pointing an accusing finger at her. _How dare you think about that? It's wrong! You should want him in prison for what he did! You should hate him!_

"So what's the project on?" he asked, looking at her curiously.

"_Huh?_"

Gavin squinted at her. "The one you were just asking about."

"Oh. It's...just an independent study thing for a music class." She could have asked about finding more names, like Nadir Khan, but she didn't want to give away information that could hurt the three men. It was better that these thoughts stayed with her.

"You okay over there?" asked Gavin. Her forehead was leaning into her right hand, and a small frown had formed on her lips.

"Yeah." She looked up and feigned a smile. "Just thinking about some stuff. Sorry. I'm in a strange mood this morning. I just...get...confused sometimes."

He nodded with understanding. "You went through a pretty crazy experience, Christine. I was surprised to see you back here after all that last spring. But give it some time. Talk to some people if you need to." He grinned. "And then, someday, you can write a book about it. Call it..._How I Survived_...or something like that. It'd be a bestseller."

She laughed. A silence passed as she momentarily allowed her mind to wander backwards for the first time in a while. "No. I'd title it.._.One Good Thought_."

"That's...unique."

"That's why I'd never write a book on it. It _was_ unique. No one would understand. I don't even understand."

"Like I said. Give it some time," he suggested. "You'll figure it out."

"Sometimes I..." She swallowed and found her voice. "Sometimes I don't think I'm thinking what I should be thinking." His confused expression made her feel all the more awkward. Still, she pressed on. "I mean...I think my thoughts are wrong. And so I...I try to forget all of it." She put her forehead in her hands. "God! I'm sorry. I know I'm being confusing."

"Hey, Christine." He patted her right shoulder. "If there's one thing I've learned from journalism, it's that everything comes in shades of grey. Think whatever the heck you want. You're a nice person. I don't think you're capable of thinking anything _wrong_. Just...let yourself figure it out."

She slowly nodded and looked down again, finding her vision to be slightly blurred with moisture. What harm _would_ come from thinking this through? From accepting certain things that wouldn't go away? Why must she hide her thoughts in the back of her mind, as though they were shameful sins? No one else even had to know what she was thinking.

Her one good thought came to mind. Her promise. She allowed it to enter her consciousness for the first time. The rest of the café disappeared into a foggy blur for a second, leaving just her and that single thought in focus.

You_ inspired me more than anyone ever has, and I wouldn't be doing any of this if it wasn't for you..._You're_ the reason that I'm here, Erik._

There. She quickly shoved everything else away for another day, before she became completely overwhelmed. A weight lifted from her chest as the room came back into view. A light coat of cool perspiration had gathered on her forehead, and tiny goose bumps had formed on her arms.

"Feel better?" asked Gavin, bringing her back to reality again.

"Yes," she softly replied, slowly nodding her head. "I think that I do."

**oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo**

An unfamiliar male voice disturbed Nadir from his short slumber that mid-October evening. It was not the softer voice of Darius and was certainly not Erik's unusually frightening timbre. Besides, his masked comrade had declared that he would be gone until the early morning hours, organizing his mysterious plans for the mission. Nadir never really knew what Erik was doing out that late, although sometimes he thought that the masked man simply wandered the desolate streets thinking of nothing but _her_.

Tiredly rubbing his head, Nadir slowly arose from the bed and walked to the door to investigate. No one, not even the landlord, had entered since their stay there. An unpleasant sensation gathered in his stomach as he approached the common area.

Darius was situated on the leftmost end of the couch, his right arm on the armrest and his posture relaxed. Sitting directly across from him in a dusty leather armchair was a strange man who was no older than his late twenties. His chin was stubbled, and his brownish hair was clipped short above his ears, almost appearing shaven. He was dressed in baggy blue jeans and a grey T-shirt that tightly clung to his leaner frame. A permanent scowl seemed situated on his mouth, and Nadir thought he saw the traces of several red scars on his left cheek. The feeling in the pit of Nadir's stomach worsened. "Darius," he practically growled in French. "Who is this? What is he doing here?"

Both men abruptly looked up, the unfamiliar one giving Nadir a quick glance over. Darius immediately jumped up from the couch, taking Nadir by the shoulder and leading him into the short hallway. "Calm down, friend," replied Darius. "We needed another man. After Buquet, we needed a fourth person. Even you said that we might. Nick speaks French. And he's damn good with a gun. He's ideal for the mission. I brought him here before he left the city."

Nadir glared and shrugged Darius off his shoulder. "_Erik_ is going to be infuriated over this! You did not even consult him, and you bring some _boy_ in who we know nothing about! Are you insane?"

"I've gotten to know Nick over the past few weeks here. He is not going to say anything. He's probably wanted by the police for more than we are. We needed someone else! You're becoming old, my friend. I'm not much of a fighter. And _he_..._he_'s not even here half the time. Still thinking of that blonde dame back in the States, isn't he? We needed someone else. Or we're all going to end up dead or in prison!"

"It does not matter!" Nadir exclaimed in a hushed voice. "Once Erik finds out, he's going to be enraged. It is imperative that we remain unknown to anyone. Your friend in there is likely going to end up dead tonight."

Darius paled slightly, and a genuine look of fear passed over his young face. Nadir couldn't help wonder if he was slightly intoxicated, especially after he had made such a stupid decision. "Should I tell him to leave, then?" Darius asked, casting a glance toward the sitting area. "Should I get him out of here?"

Nadir clenched his jaw and hesitated. If Nick stayed, there was a good chance that Erik would kill him for having so much information on their whereabouts. And yet, if Nadir allowed Nick to leave, he might be putting all three of them in danger. _Damn it, Darius_! He suddenly felt sick. "Keep him here," he finally murmured. "Perhaps we can settle the matter later." _Perhaps Nick would even be of use if Erik found him fit to be. It was a long shot, but..._

Darius nodded, now ready to take any order that he was given and atone for his mistake. He went back into the sitting area and told the strange man that he would have to remain there until the primary decision maker returned.

"And how long will that take?" asked a gruff voice.

"Hours, likely," nervously replied Darius. "But it is difficult to say. He can be a bit strange. Let him...do the talking when he arrives."

"Maybe I should leave, then," Nick muttered. "What am I doing, anyway? A kidnaping of some kind? That it? I'm goin' to be gettin' paid, right?"

Nadir shook his head and continued to watch from the hallway as Darius attempted to keep the situation calm. Erik would despise this boy, would likely kill him right on sight. The only thing that prevented Nadir from getting Nick safely out of there was the knowledge that the world would be a better place without him in it. He would be the type of person to exchange information for money...or to get out of prison.

Nadir started to return to his bedroom but stopped when Nick spoke again. "I'm goin' to make a quick phone call, then. That all right?"

"Uh..." Darius hesitated.

Nadir stuck his head back into the room. "Stay where I can hear you," he stated. He didn't want the man to know that he was somewhat trapped there, as that would likely lead to violence. The situation was putting Mr. Khan on extreme edge. He was starting to wish that Erik would just return and put an immediate end to it all. Despite still possessing a gun, Nadir didn't think he would be able to commit murder.

"Sure," Nick replied, giving him a suspicious glance. He dialed a number into a cell phone. "It's me," he stated in English into the receiver. A pause followed. "Yes. Right. Eh. Yeah." Nadir shifted at the vague conversation, beginning to get a general feeling of wrongness. "Right. Bye." Nick hung up and put the cell phone away. He looked back and forth. "Now what?"

"How about a game of cards?" quickly suggested Darius, holding up an unopened package.

Nick shrugged and nodded. "For a bit, then."

Nadir backed away. "I do not think so. I am...tired, tonight." He turned around and returned to his bedroom, leaving the door half-open so that he could hear all the happenings outside. He scratched the back of his neck and paced back and forth, before checking his watch. It was nearing eleven. Erik would not be back for hours. "All right. All right," he murmured to himself. _Calm down. All will be fine. Darius is likely right. The boy probably has too much of a criminal record to go anywhere near the authorities._

He ran a hand through his thinning hair and sat down upon the bed, knowing that there was no way he would be able to sleep now. Nadir quietly cursed Darius again. His eyes wandered toward the dresser in his room and toward the book with the photographs inside of it. Nadir released a heavy sigh. _Ah...Hamideh. How did I ever wind up here? I know you would hate what I have become, although I partly do it for you. Hamideh, I am getting too old. I am tired._

He'd bought that book for her during the first year they had lived in Paris. Hamideh had spotted it in a store that sold British imports. In Iran, they had both learned a bit of English, and so she'd likely been pleased to find something that she could understand in the slightest. Perhaps she had also just enjoyed the luxury of owning a leather-bound book with romantic stories.

For five years straight, he and Hamideh had remained within Paris. They had purchased a two-bedroom apartment, and Nadir had gotten a job within a plastics factory. His wages weren't ideal, but they were enough for food, housing, and the occasional luxury. Despite finding financial security, though, he and his wife never found that sense of belonging. Hamideh would often spend her days at home by herself, and Nadir only talked to other people at work. He considered returning to Iran, where many of their friends and relatives still resided, but conditions in the government were only becoming worse.

Nadir finally suggested children to Hamideh, wondering if that would improve her mood, give her something to look forward to doing. She replied that their living conditions in the cramped apartment weren't a good environment to raise children. That had been the end of the conversation, as he had somewhat agreed with her on the topic.

At the end of 1975, Nadir lost his job due to technological advancements within the industry. In December of that same year, Hamideh discovered that she was pregnant. Fate was cruel, it seemed. Another mouth to feed, and no more money coming into the household. When Nadir was not able to find work, they decided to move back to the countryside in January. The small house they had originally stayed in was empty, and the rent on the property was extremely low. Pleased with the good fortune, he reasoned that the quiet environment was ideal for Hamideh to rest within. After the baby was born, perhaps he would begin the search for work again. On the drive to the tiny house, Nadir had also noticed the fairly new factory or industrial complex that Trenton had mentioned years earlier. _Faucon, Inc._, it was called. He wondered if he could find work there for a year or so, at least until Hamideh was rested.

He also remembered seeing Maddy's house again for the first time in about five years. Tangled weeds covered the front lawn, and all the flowers and bushes were dead, only a few rotting stems serving witness to their former presence. The paint on the home and the fences was chipped and peeling. Nadir had shook his head at the decrepit sight before walking on, not wanting to involve himself in that woman's problems. _What could lead a young woman to fall apart like that?_

Nadir's head snapped up, and his thoughts disappeared as three loud knocks suddenly banged upon the front door of the apartment. He jumped up from the bed and raced out of the room and into the sitting area. Darius and Nick were already on their feet, staring at the door with wide eyes. The side of Nick's mouth strangely twitched several times as he folded his arms together. Three more staccato knocks echoed into the room. And then a loud, firm, and commanding voice followed.

"This is the police! Open up in there! Put all your weapons on the ground and open up!"

Nadir just stood there and waited with his arms limply at his sides, his feet frozen to the floor, feeling that simultaneous rush of horror and relief flow through his veins. The room faded out before coming back into focus. He wasn't even aware of the other two people standing there. It was all over, and a large part of him was too old and tired to care.

Three more knocks sounded out.

The door burst open.

_I am sorry, Erik._

**oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo**

"So...everything's going well there, then?"

"Yeah. It is. I'm doing good." Christine shifted the phone receiver to her other ear and tiredly leaned back against the cold wall of her dorm room.

"Very good," her fiancé replied, his voice a little weary. "Glad you're...having a good time, then."

"Yeah. There's this...concert in November that I might try to be in. Imagine me on stage again." She laughed. "But I've got to do it some time, right? I mean, that's why I came here. To sing!"

"Yeah," Raoul agreed. "You're...coming home for Thanksgiving?"

Christine played with the comforter in her free hand, squishing the soft material into her palm. She suddenly felt slightly frustrated. "Yeah. I planned to. Is that...okay?"

"Yeah! Of course. Just checking to make sure."

"Right. Well, I should be coming."

"Good." A pause followed. "Who is that?" muttered Raoul to himself.

"Huh?"

"I'm sorry," he quickly replied. "Someone keeps calling on the other line. I've been trying to ignore them, but they keeping calling."

"Oh! You can see who it is if you want. I'm kind of getting tired if you need to go."

Raoul paused. "Just give me a second. It's probably a telemarketer."

Christine nodded, despite the fact that he couldn't see her. She yawned and leaned back onto the pillow. Two exams had consumed her day, and she really was tired. The conversation with her fiancé had been awkward, as it usually was. She kept trying to think of things to say to make the situation better but could never come up with anything.

"Christine?" His voice now had a strange edge to it as he picked up again.

"Yeah?" she asked, sitting up slightly. _Was something wrong?_

"I'll call you back tomorrow. Is that okay? I...need to take this call. I'm sorry. It's...kind of an emergency." He cleared his throat. An odd tension hung in the air.

"Yeah," she replied. "That's fine! I'm going to bed soon, anyway."

"All right. I love you. Take care, Christine."

"Love you, too," she softly replied. "Bye."

Gnawing at her lip, she hung up the phone, an odd sensation settling over her. She quickly bushed it aside before she worried herself over nothing. He was probably just upset about something from work. With another yawn, Christine buried herself under the soft white sheets and warm lavender comforter. Jamie was still out that evening with friends.

She lay on her back for a while, her eyes focused on the circular patterns that were engraved into the ceiling. It had been several days since her conversation with Gavin, and she hadn't allowed her mind to wander since that time. She's been studying a lot lately, and if she allowed the past to consume her thoughts, it would ensure she received a failing grade. A part of her still feared the memories.

But Gavin was right. If she ever wanted to be okay again, she had to think everything through. It would never go away if she suppressed it forever. Christine got up from the bed for a second and retrieved the treasured music sheets from the desk. Clutching them within her hand, she returned, laying down again and closing her eyes.

_You scared me more than anything in my entire life. I even hated you at first. But...at the end...after everything...after all our lessons...I wanted to understand. I still really want to understand. And it bothers me...it really hurts because I don't think I ever will. _

She took a breath, squeezing her eyes closed.

_I hope you're not always so angry and sad, even if I don't understand it all. I hope...you can find peace someday because, even after everything, I think you deserve to have it. I don't care what anyone else thinks. I really don't! I want you to be happy. You deserve to be, Erik. _

That was another good thought, and it was the most her tired mind could handle. She opened her eyes, feeling that blessed relief sweep over her again. Several tears trickled down her cheek, and she allowed them to fall without questioning why they were there. After laying her music sheets at the foot of the bed, she turned onto her stomach and closed her eyes.

Much to the delight of her roommate, Christine slept well that night.


	20. Revelations

I think that the majority of you will enjoy this chapter. I'm trying to move the plot along a little, but hopefully nothing will feel rushed. And while many of my other stories have chapters that end with nothing but angst, I'm trying to mix up the tone a little in this story. Some chapters will be intense and dramatic, but others will be softer. This one…is a bit of both. Enjoy!

**Read and Review!**

A certain liberation came from allowing her thoughts to gradually stream into her consciousness, as though she were no longer a prisoner to uncertainties and fears that could creep up on her at unexpected moments. Whenever she had free time, a break between classes or right before going to sleep, Christine would permit herself to think over the last spring.

Strangely, she was able to quickly accept the fear that had come from the situation, maybe because that was the reaction everyone expected her to have. Anyone would say that she had the right to be terrified during her experience. She remembered the heart-stopping horror of when she was first captured, of when her instructor had swung the lasso in front of her face, taunting her with it. She remembered the claustrophobia of being cooped in that tiny room, and the constant terror of never knowing what was going to happen next or whether she was going to live or die. Buquet's memory caused a shiver to run up and down her spine. She didn't like to think about what that man would have done if she had not obtained two protectors during her captivity.

Oddly, the memories she had of the very last night at the house by the cemetery did not seem frightening. _Why? That night should have been the worst of all. _Over the course of her voice lessons, though, the blind terror had transformed into uncertainty. At some point, she knew that she would be spared, even before asking the question directly to Erik. Once her life was not at stake, she had come to almost look forward to the singing lessons, had somehow rediscovered herself during that time. That was why she was here, wasn't it? For her voice. For her dream.

That last night did not frighten her because the worst had not happened, and the true nature of everyone was revealed. After Buquet died, she had truly believed that there were no evil people left in that house. She had become more sure than ever that the shadowed man had a soul, especially with the words that had been exchanged between them in those last moments. What sort of person would make the simple request of her to not think upon him with hatred? Only someone who had experienced nothing but hate. She could only come to one of two conclusions. Either Erik was not as violent as he appeared to be, or, as she had once told Raoul, he had come to truly care for her in some way. He had wanted to ensure her well-being.

_Why her? _Her voice, maybe? But then why not still kill and torture her fiancé? Compared to other hostage situations, Raoul had been almost lucky with his few and minor injuries. No. It had to be more than her voice that kept them both alive. These were the thoughts that confused her, that made her want to push the memories away.

She did not hate him. She didn't wish pain or revenge on him-the opposite, really. And she could only assume that something terrible had once happened to both Erik and Nadir to bring them to that dark point. More than anything, Christine wished she had a clue as to what had occurred. The red markings on Erik's pale skin looked like burns.

_Had someone….done that to him? _The thought made her feel ill.

And the mask. Nadir had explained that he was horribly disfigured. Had that been done to him, too? There was so much she didn't know…so much she didn't understand. It was entirely mind numbing.

As she waited inside a small deli on a sunny Wednesday afternoon for Gavin to meet her, she caught herself wondering if _he_ ever thought of her. Did he have some way of knowing that she had pursued her singing? A part of her wished that he did, that he would be somewhat proud of her, if he even cared at all. _His_ voice was certainly something that she would never forget, could still hear in her mind to this very day. She also wondered what the three men were doing now. It was another item on a list that stretched to infinity of things that she would never know.

Christine checked the circular clock on the wall and saw that it was two minutes past the time that she and Gavin were supposed to meet for lunch. After placing an order at the counter, she took a seat and stared down at the red and white checkered tablecloth. Gavin had e-mailed her yesterday and said that he had something of interest. So far, he was the only person she had even gotten close to talking to about her ordeal. She appreciated how he didn't try to force out information or pass judgment on her thoughts.

The door jingled, and she looked up to see her friend walk inside with several papers in hand. She waved and smiled, forcing herself away from her own ponderings.

"Hey, Christine!"

"Hi!" She looked up curiously as he waved the set of papers in his hands.

"I've got something for you." Gavin came over and gave the sheets to her, and she saw that they were black and white photocopies. "I had some free time at the library after work and thought I'd dig it up. You didn't seem to be having much luck by yourself."

"What are they?"

"They're some pages from an old _Time Magazine _from the 1980s. It's that article with some information on the de Chagnys. Not a lot, but it's better than nothing. You can take a look while I go put in an order."

"Wow," she murmured, her eyes widening as she flipped through the pages. "Thank you. I never would have found it." Christine looked down at the title of the article. _The Modern Aristocrat: How Old Money is Influencing Today's Commerce_. She scanned downwards, past some information on princes and dukes whom she'd never heard of, and finally stopped when she came to the smiling face of a handsome man that looked strangely familiar. After a second, she realized that he resembled an older version of her fiancé. "Count Louis de Chagny," she murmured.

Gavin returned and sat across from her. "Yeah. I don't know if it has much about him."

She read over the first paragraphs beneath the picture. It detailed a bit about his heritage and noble ties within France. The article then discussed some of the businesses in which he had invested, mainly manufacturing, along with some of the gigantic industries he had helped to start. Her eyes widened as they fell across a familiar name. "James Lawrence," she murmured. "In the late 1960's, Louis de Chagny joined forces with four powerful European entrepreneurs and one German heiress. Richard Firmin, Gilles Andre, James Lawrence, Louis de Chagny, Frederick Oliver, and Leonie Neumanns combined to form _Falcon, Enterprises_.

"I see." Gavin laughed after a moment. "One letter from each of their last names."

"That's all it says," she said, softly. "But Lawrence was…." She tapered off. "Never mind. Wow. It was a long time ago."

"Well, being a Count, he had all the financial resources at a young age. He didn't have to work hard like the rest of us." Gavin glanced over at the article. "Does it say anything about your fiancé?"

She looked toward the end. "It just says that Louis was somewhat of a family man, that he had a wife and two young sons. That's it." Christine looked back up, feeling even more puzzled than before. "Thanks for this. Do you mind if I keep it? Maybe I missed a detail or something. I'll go back through it again later. "

"Not at all, Countess. I copied it for you."

She rolled her eyes and smiled, carefully tucking the papers into her backpack. "Thanks." A server brought their orders to the table. Christine slowly took a small bite of her roast turkey sandwich, running over what she had read in her mind. Although she still didn't know much, the article had given some tangibility to the events around her.

"So how have you been doing?" asked Gavin after a short silence. "Figuring everything out?"

"I've been good," she earnestly replied. "Busy with school, I guess. But, otherwise, I don't feel like I'm trying to hide from anything anymore. I mean, I'm only here because of what happened. And I'm thrilled to be singing again."

"That's good. I think a lot of people come out of a traumatic event with more strength. It's not unusual."

She nodded, wringing her hands together. "Right now, I just wish I understood things better. I don't hate anyone. Some good things happened during all the bad parts. I think that's what confuses me. That I can look at what happened with some good memories." She wearily looked up. "Do you think I'm crazy now? You think I have Stockholm Syndrome or something, don't you?"

Gavin swallowed his food and laughed loudly. "Christine…Don't look at me for a diagnosis. I mean, you're free to think what you want now."

She took another bite and a sip of her drink. "There's…just this constant…_feeling_ that won't go away. I want to stop thinking about it all! But I don't want to forget everything, either!" By the time she finished speaking, Christine realized that her voice had increased several decibels in volume and that she was leaning halfway across the table. She quickly drew back into her chair with a bright blush. Rarely did she ever get so animated.

Gavin's curiosity had officially been piqued by her little outburst. He set down his food, his expression serious now. "What don't you want to forget?"

Christine glanced up. "Certain things that were said, I guess," she murmured. "My…inspiration. Certain people. I can't let it all go yet. Would you think I was crazy if I said that….there were certain things I even missed?" Her hands curled into tight balls on the table top, and her gaze stayed downward.

"Yes. You're a complete lunatic." She abruptly looked up again to see that he was smirking at her. He chuckled and rubbed his temples. "If you ever want to explain any of this to me, feel free to. I don't really understand enough to say what you should do. But I admit I'm curious about it. Really curious."

She nodded. "Someday I'll fill you in, if you promise not to write a book on it. I just…give me some more time. And…thanks for listening. It really helps."

He nodded back. "No problem. It's the most interesting thing I've heard all year, anyway. But I promise I won't tell anyone else…or write a book on it, tempting as it might be."

She laughed. "Thanks."

**ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo**

Dozens of police and law officials rushed in and out of the small flat, carrying various sized objects to several awaiting trucks. Nearby residents stepped out of their homes to watch the fiasco, awoken and drawn forth by the loud shouts and the flashing lights of the vehicles. Shadows darted back and forth beneath the streetlights, and the static crackled from radios. In one dark corner of an alleyway, invisible to everyone else, _he_ silently and motionlessly watched as his entire plan was crushed.

From the state of things, it was obvious that the British authorities had been there for at least several hours. There was no point in gathering his flowing adrenaline and rage, and making a mad dash forward with the lasso. Nadir and Darius were almost certainly far gone to some obscure location or behind the walls of a heavily guarded prison.

Unless they were dead. An ambulance had just been silently departing when he arrived at the scene, and so their demise was a possibility. Darius, he did not care. The boy was occasionally more trouble than he was really worth, brainless in some ways. _But Nadir._ If Nadir was dead, he would ensure that someone suffered a slow and agonizing death.

It was _his_ doing, this current catastrophe that lay before him, the collapse of his careful planning. He had been unprepared…unfocused during the entire time. No matter what the original cause of the mess, whether it was Oliver's doing or his cohorts' mistake, it was his fault in the end for being so careless. A cold wave of self-hatred washed over him, and he threw himself against an icy brick wall as someone in a uniform passed, blending himself into the shadows.

The rage boiled inside of him as he watched the objects being carried away, the prized violin and music likely amongst them. His skeletal fists clenched and unclenched, and it took all of his lingering restraint to stop himself from make a suicidal run forward. Even he could not win with twenty guns pointing at him, with glaring lights flashing all around. He had nothing in his possession now but the unusual weapon, several hundred British pounds, the hair clip, and a sealed white envelope. The entire purpose of the outing had been the retrieval of that thin envelope. That accursed envelope had likely prolonged his life that night.

He would die soon. That was inevitable, and he gladly welcomed the knowledge. Whether it was during his attempt to find Nadir or to finally dispose of Oliver…whether it was by a bullet or lack of breath from this grossly polluted air…he would soon meet his end. He would take others with him, of course. He would even win several battles in the process. Sooner or later, though, he would slip and fall. And although he bordered on subhuman, his scarred body was still mortal and perishable.

Unseen by anyone, he turned and walked deeper into the dark streets and alleyways. There was no point in staying there unless he wished to be shot. _No._ They would likely attempt to capture him alive, to put him on trial before the world. The media loved a freak of nature. A snarl formed in the back of his throat as he imagined being forced into prison. That would never occur again. He would see that they were forced to kill him before they ever locked him away.

Someone brushed against him, perhaps just a passing pedestrian, and he knocked them against the wall with a primal growl. A grunt of pain followed, but he rushed onward, blinded with a renewed hatred, his wiry muscles tensed in dangerous anger. And yet, there was nowhere to go…no target to set his sights upon. There was nothing.

He tried to find some semblance of a plan. Oliver had most certainly fled the country like the wretched coward that he was, and all chances of getting to his niece were virtually impossible now. Nadir and Darius….his hands clenched into fists as he realized their likely fate. There were only two clear witnesses that still lived to attest to their crimes. With the information found in the flat, the inept police force had a semblance of a chance at connecting them to the murder of Lawrence and to the plot against Oliver. But the entire case could very well rest in the hands of the….witnesses.

De Chagny would testify if he could. That boy would be ecstatic to get his revenge. _I should have killed him! _But _her_. Not her. Please not her. Would she speak against them? _Christine. Will you celebrate at this news? Or perhaps mourn the fact that Erik was not amongst those captured?_

Because of her, there were two living witnesses.

And yet, even if she told them every detail…even if she truly despised him, he found that he could not regret allowing her to live. No part of him did that night as he ducked into the outside storage closet of some rotting brick building. No matter how he died, she would live a long life. He buried himself within the shadows of a dusty, cobwebbed corner, surrounded by air ducts and maintenance machines. His malformed lips twitched upward. Even as a four-legged creature scampered over his feet in the darkness, he found that one thought of her to be of comfort.

He was alone, and he had next to nothing. Now, the envelope in the pocket of his suit would push him forward for these remaining days. Three weeks ago, he had made a single phone call from an obscure location to one of his few connections within the United States. It was the same shady figure who had originally informed him of the whereabouts of de Chagny and Lawrence, a man that lived within the criminal underworld of society. He had paid the man heftily for necessary information.

Now, he made another request of the shade, a last request. He only wanted to know of her wedding date. Nothing else and no other details. Perhaps he had inwardly sensed that the time of action was near, that his end was coming, but he had felt a dire need to possess the information. He had placed in a request for two names, although it was only possible for one of them to exist. The other stayed within his mind.

He had retrieved the letter with the information that night, and it was carefully tucked in his suit beside the lasso. He pulled the envelope out and ripped the top off in a quick motion. Something creaked above him, and another small creature scuttled through the alleyways. He unfolded the letter and cast his glowing eyes upon it, clenching the white paper with his bony hands. No light was needed. He could see the several lines of printed words within the darkness.

_Requested Info: _

_**Christine de Chagny**: No records found. _

_**Christine Rebecca Daae **Age: 20 Single _

_Permanent Residence: Chicago, IL; __Currently Vocal Performance Student at Boston University_

_-All I could find in that short span of time. Call for more._

After glancing at the letter a second time, he refolded it and placed it into the pocket of his suit. A foreign sensation settled over him. A calm. And despite his wretched state, for he was now nothing more than a rat crawling through England's gutters, he felt a momentary peace.

_She still sang. The angel sang! And she was still…._

She could not curse his name to make such a choice. _You have kept your promise to me. One good thought. You must have…You must have, Christine._

He would die soon; that was still inevitable.

But, first, he would hear her again. It would only consume a few weeks, the time it would take him to discern Oliver's current location…to determine Nadir's fate. If Darius and Nadir were extradited for trial, being in the United States would even be advantageous, he quickly reasoned. Any scant reason would do. He did not care. He had time, too much time on his hands. Time to find his comrade, time to hang Oliver by his throat….

But, somehow, he would have time to hear what he had helped to create. She would never even know that he had been there. She would never know that she had sung for him. He would be a mere ghost, hovering nearby for a short time to hear her voice. He would not bring her misery, no. Not her.

The rain began to pound down again, and the smell of wet tar and stale grime wafted into the smoggy air. Only the most wretched of creatures roamed the dark streets now. Even the vermin had sought shelter. After another moment, he abandoned the small enclosure and silently began walking forward down the empty roads, only vaguely aware of the raindrops making their way through the cracks and crevices of his mask and streaming down his misshapen face.

**ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo**

It had been one of those long, rough days, and Christine was purely exhausted. The week had been busy with schoolwork, and she'd gotten lost all afternoon trying to find her way to the financial aid office to get some details sorted out with her scholarship. On top of everything, there was an unpleasant tingling in the back of her throat and a tickle in her nose. _Please don't tell me I'm getting a cold._

Coming out of a warm shower that Friday night, she slipped on a warm pair of cotton pajamas and a cloth robe, eager to snuggle into bed and get some well-needed rest. On her way down the hallway, she passed some other girls and waved, briefly watching as they walked away in mini skirts and high heels, likely heading to a party. She sighed, feeling out of place for a moment, before heading back into her room. Her head was beginning to pound, and she didn't really care what anyone else was doing that night. She wanted to sleep. Entering the room, she was surprised to see Jamie standing by the doorway with a small frown on her face.

"Oh. There you are!" said her roommate with an uncertain smile. "Your fiancé called a couple of minutes ago. He sounded like it was kind of important. You might wanna give him a ring tonight."

Christine froze, her towels draped over her arm. "What did he say?"

"Well, nothing to me. Just…to call him back when you get in."

After setting her items down, she slowly walked over and picked up the phone, taking a deep breath before dialing the familiar number. A nervous sensation was building in her stomach. Her fiancé usually wasn't urgent about anything. Raoul picked up right after the second ring. "Christine?" He sounded eager.

"Yeah. Hi. It's me." She paused. "How are you? Is something wrong?"

"Yes. Well…no. Sorry. Nothing's wrong. I just….I have some news." He now sounded hesitant, his voice lower and uncertain. "I thought you should know."

"What is it?" her voice trembled.

"In England, a couple days ago, they found _them. _They…arrested them."

Her hand tightened around the receiver. She slowly took a seat on the bed, ignoring Jamie's curious stare. "They found….."

"Yeah," he replied. "The police raided this apartment, and all three of them were there. I don't know all of the details. It didn't happen that long ago. But…one of them…one of them tried to resist arrest. He was killed...shot."

Her heart was pounding in her chest, throbbing violently in her ears. She suddenly felt dizzy, laying her head back against the cool plaster of the wall. "Who?" she whispered.

"I was sent some photos of Nadir and the younger guy. Darius. They were both arrested. But…I….."

"Oh my God," she murmured. A sound between a sigh and a moan escaped her lips. "That means…."

"I know," he quickly replied. "I didn't get a photo of the body or anything. But they said…they said that the guy's face was scarred. And I assume, well, I don't know enough yet to assume anything. I just thought you should know. I know you just want to forget the whole thing, but…maybe this'll make you feel safer. Maybe it will give us some closure."

"Mmm." She couldn't say anything. A knot had formed in her throat_. He was dead. _

"Are you okay?" her fiancé asked. "I know it's kind of a shock. I…Would you rather me not have told you? I didn't know."

"No," she choked out. "No. I'm fine. I just….Just….I'll call you back in a little bit."

"All right. Are you sure you're okay?"

"Fine. Just…hang on."

She lowered the phone to her side, staring blankly at a patch of empty space on the poster-covered wall.

"Are you feeling all right?" she heard Jamie ask from beside her. "You're so pale. What happened?"

Christine numbly glanced at her once, before jumping up from the bed and rushing out of the room. She raced down the carpeted hall of the dormitory, ignoring the bewildered glances that the other residents gave her, before finally finding the bathrooms. Throwing open the swinging door, she ran into a stall and fell to her knees, wincing as she hit the cold, hard tiles. Clutching the sides of the toilet, she began to gag.

The last thing she remembered that night was Jamie handing her a wet paper towel and a glass of water, before slowly leading her back to the dorm room.


	21. Her Shadow

Hey guys. Big thanks to those who reviewed. I'm sorry that this chapter is a little late; but between computer problems, homework, and a nasty cold, this week has been kind of rough. I hope this long chapter makes up for it. And the next one….should be very interesting. ;) Also, someone wisely noticed that the story gets a bit of inspiration from "V for Vendetta." That wasn't my original intention, but I think I subconsciously worked it in as I wrote. It's also inspired from bits and pieces of true events, but I won't give that away right now. Hope you continue to enjoy!

**Read and Review!**

Was it the evening or afternoon? Had he been there for six days or seven? Nadir slowly looked around at his dank surroundings, only an unmade cot and a rusty toilet occupying the spaces beside him. Belmarsh, the high security prison was called. He wasn't completely sure where the facility was located, but, considering that the drive hadn't taken that long, he guessed that he was still in London.

He was very isolated, as many of the other prisoners seemed to be. As he was not an English citizen, he did not have many rights. _I wouldn't even know what my rights here are._ Thankfully, Nadir hadn't yet experienced any of the horror stories that others, including his masked comrade, had been subject too. He'd occasionally been manhandled roughly, and the interrogation had been mentally exhausting, but no one had come close to physically injuring him. Only the quiet solitude now seemed torturous, along with never knowing what lay ahead. _This is what Ms. Daae must have felt like during her days with us. I suppose justice is served._

He remembered that fateful night of almost a week ago, when the police had practically knocked down the front door and barged inside with loaded weapons. The authorities had commanded everyone to raise their hands into the air, and he and Darius had immediately obeyed. Nick had started screaming at the police that he was the informant, waving his hands in the air and demanding they release him. The police repeatedly told him to obey orders so that the matter could be resolved later. Likely having a criminal record of his own, though, Nick refused to be taken away. As he reached into the pocket of his jeans, the police were forced to fire, hitting the young man squarely in the skull.

The next hours were a blur as he was transported from one place to another. He'd been questioned for hours about his activities, to the point of near exhaustion. As Erik had once commanded years ago in the event of a capture, he'd remained nearly silent during the questionings, almost playing the part of a mute man. In the end, he doubted that his refusal to speak mattered. Who knew what Darius had said? The young man seemed to have difficulty keeping his mouth closed. Erik had once even hinted that Nadir should kill Darius if they were ever caught, but Mr. Khan still did not have the heart or the stamina to commit murder. And so Darius lived to possibly seal their doom.

As his main connection to any actual murder had been in the United States, Nadir wondered if he would eventually be brought back there. Perhaps the de Chagny couple would be the ones to testify to their crimes. The pair deserved to have some vindication, he supposed. He also wondered what Erik was doing now, finding himself hoping that his masked friend would stay out of danger. That was unlikely, but the thought of Erik again confined to a prison cell made him shudder. _No. That wouldn't happen._ Erik would ensure he was dead before they ever brought him there.

And, yet, that realization was of no consolation. Nadir sighed.

Mr. Khan certainly had plenty of time to think during these idle days, darker and painful memories brought back by the dreary confines of his tiny cell. _What was worse, the present or the past? _

He remembered the months of Hamideh's pregnancy, helplessly watching as her health slowly declined. She never felt well in those last five months, her face always ashen and drawn-in. Frequently, his frail wife just lay in bed or spent hours staring out the window at her garden with a frown. To make matters worse, he'd been forced to make a few trips away from home in search of permanent work, always feeling guilty for having to abandon her for several days. But money was dangerously scarce, and he'd had little choice. The nearby industrial complex was not hiring.

Nadir had also found that many of the former residents throughout the countryside had moved over the last few years. More than a few of the antique farm houses were vacant and selling for a cheap price. Occasionally, he'd see a somewhat familiar face in one of the nearby towns, but he kept to himself for the most part. Not once did he catch a glimpse of Madeleine. Each day had grown more mournful, and Hamideh's health grew worse. Sometimes he wondered if she was simply depressed. To this day, he regretted not getting her medical aid sooner, even if it wouldn't have made a difference.

That miserable day finally came. Late one night, his wife had released an anguished scream and clutched her swollen stomach. He had always planned to get her to a hospital in the days preceding her birth, but the child was nearly a month early. Nadir had rushed her to the nearest hospital in Guéret, the drive taking a couple of hours, long hours of hearing her groaning in the cramped backseat. Still, she did not give birth.

As her condition was so critical, Nadir was forced out of the hospital room throughout the terrible ordeal. He paced for hours in the hallway, cold perspiration dripping from his clammy forehead. The wail of a crying baby never came, only an array of murmurs and gasps from behind the door. He'd known that it was a stillborn before he even went inside. Perhaps he had always known that something would not be right.

Finally, the doctor had permitted him inside. The older man had placed a hand upon Nadir's shoulder, a somber expression on his tired face. "She is bleeding internally," he quietly stated. "There is little we can do. I am sorry. We do not have the resources here. Maybe in Paris…but…we are not used to such severe cases."

He remembered pushing the doctor aside and approaching her, ignoring the staff as they carried away bundles of bloodstained towels and sheets. He remembered thinking with fear that he had never even known her that well, and yet hurting because he had somehow grown to love her over these past years. The relationship had never been passionate or ideally romantic, but it was a companionship, nonetheless, built on mutual trust and understanding. And he knew that he would miss her.

Her face was nearly the color of the white hospital sheets, and her eyelids fluttered as she drifted in and out of consciousness_. Did she wish that he was someone else?_ _Someone that she had not been forced to marry? Someone who had not taken her far away from her home? _

"All my flowers keep dying," she had softly murmured in the tongue of their homeland, likely on pain killers as she slowly slipped away. "I keep planting them, and they always die. Why is that?"

Nadir had closed his eyes and gently took her icy hand. "We will move to a different place…plant new ones. Hamideh….please…."

She had then looked at him once with odd clarity. "Nadir," she had said softly and with the hint of gratitude. And then her eyes had closed permanently, and a final sigh escaped her lips. He'd quickly withdrawn his hand from her cold, limp grasp and buried his forehead into his palms. Several sharp sobs came from the back of his throat as she took her final breaths. After a moment, he had whirled around to face one of the younger nurses. "Let me see my child," he commanded, a rasp in his voice.

The young woman had bit her lip and backed away from him. "The baby…" She rapidly shook her head, her cheeks growing pale. "It is not….I cannot!"

"Why not?" he nearly growled, his sanity faltering. "Let me see him!"

"But it is not…." she began, before the doctor interrupted her.

"Let him see his child," the elderly man gently ordered. "It is his right, after all." He'd looked up and adjusted his glasses. "But I warn you, Mr. Khan, that the child was not even near being properly formed. There were problems in the development, likely throughout the pregnancy. The sight….may be extremely disturbing to you, especially at this time."

Nadir ignored him, running over to a metal cart where something tiny had carefully been covered with an ironed white sheet. The young nurse quickly backed away and turned her head from the coming sight. "I am sorry," she whispered.

He had slowly reached down and pulled away the mortuary sheet. _He looked downwards for several seconds, his heart stopping inside of his chest, and then he had raced away to vomit._

As Nadir leaned back onto the cot of his prison cell, he felt his stomach begin to churn again in memory. It had been his own child, and he had not been able to look. He briefly wondered if that sight was one of the reasons that he was able to stand looking at Erik's face better than most people. He was one of the few people who had actually seen worse.

**OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO**

For over five years, nothing but thoughts of revenge and death had consumed his time, had been his sole purpose for continuing to exist and closest thing to peace of mind. What he had lived could not even be called a life, locked in one type of prison cell or another for the majority of his existence. He could not reclaim all those wasted years of wretchedness, and the future consisted of nothing but years of solitude and dwelling upon his hatred. Now that he truly had nothing left, not even his soothing music, ending his life would have seemed an ideal possibility. The only thing that drove him forward was the sole goal of seeing her again, of hearing her voice and being near her perfect presence. He could die with some semblance of happiness if he could just do that. His peace of mind lay with her now, and the knowledge that she didn't think upon him with disgust.

The journey back to the United States had consumed a week and a half, days of being cramped into a cargo hold or hiding in the shadows on deck in the frigid night air. The moisture from the ocean gnawed at his lungs, until he feared that his harsh breaths would be heard by crew members. Throughout his travel, he had only been forced to use the lasso once, when a security official at the British ports had gotten dangerously too close to his hiding area. He didn't want to leave a long trail of bodies, as that would have pointed to his location. For the most part, though, he had been fortunate.

His sanity wavered at certain points, and thoughts of the past became mixed with the present. At one point, perhaps a result of the fuel fumes, he believed himself to be confined within prison again. Thoughts of _her_ returned him to a slightly less bleak reality, had permitted him to make the journey without losing his mind completely. He stole the little food and water that he needed, sleeping no more than a few hours throughout the entire trip.

Once there, it had not been difficult to leave the ship and ports, concealing himself within the congested city. He immediately obtained financial resources from an old and undiscovered bank account before permanently closing it. During the brighter hours of the day, he hid himself in warehouses, storage buildings, or abandoned factories. He was restless without his music, pacing back and forth against the cold concrete floors. _How dare they take his violin! His Don Juan!_ Murderous rage filled him at the thought of his masterpiece in another's hands. Only thoughts of her were calming.

During the evening and night, he would wrap a black scarf around his masked face and obscure himself within the shadows, bringing violent shudders to the few people that encountered him when he was forced to purchase food or other necessities. Most of his funds were spent on expensive transportation, even limousines with tinted windows, so that he could travel unnoticed and search for the desired location.

It was not difficult to discover the sprawled out university, laying in the center of the city and lining the Charles River. Nineteenth century brownstones and brick buildings lined the streets, and it was easy for him to remain hidden in the shadows of the large architectural structures. Once there, he had used a computer system inside the administrative offices of the university to discover the location of her sleeping quarters. It hadn't even been classified information. _Any vile person could obtain her whereabouts. _She was literally alone amongst all this chaos, mixed in with all these other insignificant faces. _But she was here!_

Until that moment, he occasionally fretted that the information in the letter had been false, that in reality she was wedded to the boy and that his search would be empty. Each bit of information that confirmed her location put his mind at ease, brought him closer to her_. Christine Daae_. She was there, less than a mile from where he stood. As the maintenance staff began to work down the halls of the building, he immediately abandoned the office and headed back into the night. He would seek her out tomorrow.

The following day he did not see her, though, watching from the window of the unused upper floor of a building as masses of people walked below him, oblivious to his presence. Frustration and anger caused his fingers to curl, and he again paced as the useless day came to an end. He glanced down with utter disgust to see that the dark material of his suit jacket was beginning to wear and tear. Some misfortunate tailor or department store employee would have to bear his eerie presence this evening. Or perhaps he could just leave the jacket with a note beside it and retrieve it without being seen. It was rather simple to be a ghost in a city this large.

Another day later, he briefly saw her for the very first time. As he had prepared to abandon his shadowy corner after another day of nothingness, he spotted a flash of golden hair and a pair of blue eyes. Frozen, he intensely watched his former pupil for a few blissful seconds, studying her posture and slight gestures. Her gaze was focused upon the ground, and she stopped only once to adjust the backpack on her thin shoulders. He could not see her entire face, just the edge of her cheekbone and eye when she turned her head to glance at a group of passing females. She climbed a set of concrete steps and disappeared behind the glass doors of a building. He resisted coming closer. _No. I will not bring her misery. Not now. This is enough. Enough. _And it _was_ enough for that day. A heavy weight lifted from his chest, and his clarity returned.

The following day he resumed his previous location, this time catching sight of her entire profile as she unknowingly passed by him. The sky was saturated with gray clouds, and so he had not needed to escape the sunlight. No one lingered outside for very long that cold day; no one noticed him. As she walked toward the dormitory, her mouth was pursed and her lifeless eyes again stayed focused upon the ground. _Odd._ He had imagined her lack of color to be a result of her captivity, which is why he had permitted her into the sunlight on that one strange day. _But no_. Her skin was still unnaturally pale, only a few shades darker than his death's flesh. Another female spoke to her as they passed one another, and Christine said a few words before looking away. Her clothes hung loosely upon her. _Why do you waste away now? When you are free, dear Christine? When you believe that Erik no longer haunts you? Why?_

He merely watched as she continued down the walkway, until she had finally disappeared from his view. His lungs felt clearer, the air less stale and polluted. It would not be such a cruel fate to spend the rest of his life watching her from the shadows, would be something akin to paradise compared to much of his existence. She was the only entity in his time on earth that wasn't tainted or two-faced, the only person that he had ever….. It would take pure willpower to pull him back to the misery and smog of Europe. He had to force himself to remember his comrades and Oliver at these moments, force himself away from her nearness to continue to search for information on the happenings in England.

The first time he actually heard her precious voice was several days later, after he had followed her to a music hall on one rainy afternoon when the sight of her walking from her dormitory had not been enough to sate him. Concealed within a spare practice room, he had locked the door and listened as her muffled voice rang out from the opposite side of the wall, singing a simpler aria from _Faust_. His eyes closed at the sound. Technically, she had improved….Yes…she had been working hard as he knew she would. But…_. Your spirit, Christine! Where is your passion? How could you have abandoned that? Erik returned it to you, you wretched girl!_ _Sing, Christine. As I taught you to! _Frustration overcame him.

He heard an older male speak to her. "Is something wrong, Christine? Put a little more emotion into your voice. Smile a little. You look like a robot today."

And then she spoke back, her tone soft and resigned. "I guess I'm tired. I'm sorry. I think I have a cold or something. I'll practice more."

"Well…just pull everything together before the concert. It really is an opportunity, Christine. Usually freshmen aren't permitted into these events. But you've proven yourself very capable until now."

"I know," she quickly replied. "I'll be fine. It's just my cold."

_Then you should immediately rest your voice! And resist from gallivanting through the frigid air every day. Of course you are ill! _He tapped his fingers against the plaster wall for a moment, desiring to make such commands, to find that perfection again. Still, he resisted his urges to get closer. Perhaps it had been wrong to return at all, to satisfy this need, but he did not care. Right and wrong had never mattered. He did not care now.

It was only an evening later when cold reality did almost return, when he was reminded of the ring that still lay on her finger and the knowledge that she would not be there forever. His time as her shadow was limited. He saw her walking down the sidewalk with a male companion. The stout young man said a few words to her, and she just nodded back. Mere seconds later, though, she was hugging him. _He_ felt his shoulders tense in strange anger at the sight, and a heavy breath shook his lungs. Would some _boy_ always interfere with his brief moments of peace?

As he watched with disdain in the dim evening light, though, he observed that it was not an embrace of passion, not even of friendship. Christine was crying, desperately burying her tear-streaked cheeks into her companion's broad shoulder for solace. He could read the boy's lips as he spoke down to her, a bewildered expression on his face. "What's wrong?" her companion asked, giving her an uncomfortable hug. She murmured something back to him. "Who?" he enquired.

The angel rapidly shook her head and continued to quietly sob, her shoulders still heaving. She then broke away from the boy and coughed several times in the other direction, before hugging her arms to her chest. _She belonged in bed…Christine….Why do you wither in the daylight? _A strange sensation came over him, a sharing of her grief that he had not experienced before.

After a moment, the boy led her by the arm to the door of her dormitory. They said their farewells, and she quickly entered the building. Her companion glanced back once, shook his head, and continued onward. _He_ remained there for several minutes, staring at the spot where she had last stood as he did every evening in an attempt to be nearer to her. A rare calmness came over him as the sky continued to darken.

His moment of tranquility was suddenly shattered by the sounds of two sets of footsteps and quiet murmurs. He glanced up with a glare as a young couple intruded into his shadowed territory behind the buildings. Silently, he observed them with both disgust and fascination, watching as the male pressed the female against the wall. She laughed as he forced his lips against hers in this display of human affection, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and pulling him closer. "Mmm…Jamie." The boy's hands trailed along her torso.

The girl momentarily opened her eyes and attempted to reposition her head against the bricks for comfort. Perhaps she saw _his_ glowing eyes at that second. Or perhaps she noticed the looming silhouette, but the girl suddenly became quite aware that they were not alone. She knew that something vile had intruded into their human bliss, that _h_e did not belong in the same world as they did. Her smile of delight became a gape of horror, and she drew back from her companion with a choked gasp.

"What….?" The boy asked with slight annoyance as she jerked away from him. He turned around in the direction of her frightened gaze, and his own mouth fell open. "Holy..." He choked, his eyes squinting in an attempt to make some sense out of what he was looking at. "Let's get the hell out of here."

She released a high-pitched screech and grabbed his hand, casting another horrified glance backwards as they both raced out of the enclosure. _He_ instinctively reached for his lasso, feeling the fine material beneath his icy fingertips.

"What was that?" he heard the female ask from a slight distance.

"A damn ghost if I ever saw one. Let's keep going!"

He continued to finger the lasso. _Had they seen too much? No._ He decided. Rumors of a ghost would be less harmful than two strangled bodies. Withdrawing his hand from his weapon, he cast one last lingering glance to the door where Christine had entered, feeling his hatred of humanity abate slightly, before quickly retreating into solitude.


	22. Haunted

Hello guys! I really enjoyed all of your reviews on the last chapter and tried to reply to many of them. They all made me want to get this next chapter out quickly. I've had requests and guesses about the ending, and all that I'll say is that we still have a long ways to go. Anything could happen in that time. I hope you continue to read and enjoy.

**Read and Review!**

When Raoul delivered the news to her on that chilly evening, her reaction was far from what she ever would have expected, a sensation similar to having the breath knocked out of her lungs. Nausea had overtaken her, and the room had momentarily spun in a whirl of dreary-shaded colors. That night, she had returned to the warmth of the bed and curled into a ball beneath the covers, altering between falling into a troubled sleep and blankly staring into the darkness. A steady pounding continued at the back of her skull.

By the following morning, the tickle in her throat and nose had become a full-blown virus. For the rest of that weekend, Christine remained in her dorm room, only venturing out to eat once in the cafeteria and to do a load of laundry. She was constantly coughing up mucus, and a rawness lingered at the back of her throat. A constant supply of Tylenol was kept by her beside, along with a decongestant that graciously put her into a deeper and dreamless sleep. Within a period of mere days, her immune system had seemed to collapse.

Likely disturbed by the incident in the bathroom, Jamie repeatedly asked her if everything was 'okay.' Christine just explained to her that she was ill and having some problems back home, needing some way to quickly excuse her strange reaction. Her roommate had finally left her alone, staying out of the dorm most of the weekend to avoid getting sick herself. Christine was grateful for the time alone.

Raoul phoned the morning after his original call, obviously disconcerted by her abrupt departure the previous evening. He sounded fairly upbeat until he heard her raspy and exhausted voice.

"Are you okay?" he asked with concern, after she had softly apologized for not calling back.

"Just kind of sick," she replied. "I'll be fine. Just a cold."

"I see. I'm sorry. I guess it's that season, though."

"Yeah," she murmured, turning her mouth from the receiver to cough several times.

"Well…get some rest, Christine." His tone was uncertain, as if he could detect that something else wasn't quite right. "You don't sound too well….at all."

"Yeah. I am. I'm staying in bed."

"Good."

Her fiancé told her a few humorous stories from work, attempting to make some lighter conversation and improve the mood. Christine just silently listened to him, glad that Raoul had taken over because she had little to say. After a few moments, though, there was an awkward pause. She wondered if he was ready to hang up, but then her fiancé spoke again, his voice quieter and hesitant. "There's something…I guess I'd better tell you. Just so you have some warning."

"What?" she asked, sitting up a little straighter. _What now? _

He sighed. "There's this chance that…those two men might be brought back here for trial. This might be where there's the most evidence against them. If that happens, we might have to testify in court. That's what someone told me."

A chill traveled through her already frigid body, and the gnawing in her stomach became worse. She gripped onto the bedspread. "Oh," she whispered. "Raoul…I really don't know if I can do that. I just don't think I can_." I can't. I can't._

"I know it's hard to think about, Christine," he gently replied. "I want to forget about it, too. I really do. It was a nightmare. But these…people need to be locked up. Look. I'm thrilled that we got away alive. It was a miracle. But James Lawrence didn't. Christine….they're murderers. They nearly killed us. They took a month from our lives."

"I guess," she replied in a small voice, not having the energy to protest and praying that the day never came when she had to make that decision. _She couldn't do it. Not now. Not after knowing…_That nauseous feeling overtook her, and she leaned her head back into the pillow. "I think I need to go. I'm not feeling well."

"All right, Christine. I'm sorry. I hope you feel better soon. Maybe I should have waited until later to…tell you that. But…I'm just trying to keep you up to date."

"It's fine. I'm just sick. I'll call you sometime this week."

"All right. Take care, Christine."

"Bye," she whispered.

After quickly hanging up, Christine glanced around the room with slight paranoia to ensure that Jamie was still gone. Consoled by her assured solitude, she buried her face back into the pillow and cried for awhile, ignoring the fact that her tears were only worsening her congestion.

She hadn't actually yet pondered why she was so emotionally drained, focusing primarily on her physical health and ignoring that steady ache that lay somewhere between her heart and stomach. The only sensation comparable to the dull pain was when she had watched her father die a few years back, only this time it had come without warning. Christine attempted to ignore the feeling and function during the school week, taking a heavy dose of cold medicine and trudging through the cold air to her classes. She kept up with most of her work and forced herself through the readings, praying that she was retaining at least some of the information in her clouded mind. The only times that she couldn't fake her way through were during her vocal lessons.

Her deadened, emotionless voice was blamed upon her illness. That made sense, didn't it? As she told her professor, it was impossible to sing well when she was so sick. Once she was better, hopefully by the first coming concert, she would again perform to the best of her ability. She had to believe that was true, even if a horrible inner feeling told her otherwise. If her voice was truly gone, there would be nothing. _No. She would be okay. She had to be._ She would get better soon.

The cold diminished very slowly as the week wore on, and Christine was finally able to breathe through her nose again. Her voice still sounded damaged and strained, though, and she wondered if the illness had some sort of lasting effect on her vocal chords. The dull inner ache persisted, and she suddenly found it difficult to make conversation with other people, as if the task took more energy than she had. _What's wrong with me?_ _Maybe I should just go back home and give up this whole stupid thing. Why did I even decide to do this? I'm just a pathetic little girl who can't even function in the real world. I don't even belong here. I don't even want to be here anymore! _

She attempted to force the bitter thoughts from her head and find clarity.

It was a couple of days later when something finally broke. As she and Gavin walked back from the library together in the cold evening air, he had asked her what was wrong, likely noticing her despondent mood. As the orange sun set in the distance, the ache inside of her chest tightened to the point of true physical pain, and she could no longer hold everything inside of her. She turned and threw her arms around his shoulders as several sobs shook her body, wanting something-anything-to hold onto for even a moment.

"What's wrong?" he asked, staring down at her in bewilderment. She felt him give her a tentative hug and knew that he must be feeling awkward. But she didn't care. There was no one else she could talk to right now.

"He's dead," she sickly murmured against her friend's warm shoulder. It was the first time she had spoken the words aloud, her own eyes widening at the sound of them. Another sob escaped her sore throat. "God….He's dead."

"Who?" he softly asked.

She shook her head in response, not able to explain at that moment. "He didn't deserve to….." Christine incoherently began. "They shot him, Gavin! He didn't deserve it….He didn't…I know he didn't. I know…I….I don't know what to do." As a violent coughing attack overtook her, brought on by a mixture of her tears and the frigid air, Christine was forced to turn away from him. She hugged her arms to her chest as the choking subsided, allowing a concerned Gavin to gently lead her to the doors of her dormitory.

"Someone close to you died?" he asked her after a moment.

"Yes," she murmured, staring down at the ground.

"A family member?" She'd silently shaken her head. "A friend?"

"Yes. Well, no. I don't know." The tears continued to flow from her eyes. "I just...I don't want him to be dead," she whispered as though in prayer.

"Wow… I know. I'm sorry, Christine." He cleared his throat. "Yeah…. That's rough. I had a good friend of mine die in an accident a couple years ago. It…takes a lot out of you."

"Yeah." She was momentarily irritated by his unsuccessful attempt to identify with her, as there was no way that he ever could. But he was doing his best to help. It suddenly dawned upon her that there was really no one who would ever understand. She attempted to wipe the remaining tears from her frozen face.

"You really need to rest, Christine," Gavin stated, as they finally came to the doors. She could see her pale reflection in the glass. "Maybe you should go to the clinic. Make sure you aren't getting pneumonia or something. "

"Yeah. Maybe I will." She pulled the door open half-way. "Thanks for listening, Gavin. Have a good night."

"You, too," he replied, looking a little lost. "I…may not be around for awhile. Marisol is coming up to the city this next week. We're finalizing some things for the wedding, and I wanted to show her around Boston if the weather's nice. But…feel free to call if you're not doing that well. We should be home in the evenings."

"I'm sure your fiancée would appreciate me calling," she tiredly replied, suddenly feeling the need to lay down by herself. "But thanks, anyway. Maybe I'll see you later."

"See you, Christine. Hope you feel better. And I'm really sorry about your loss. I hope things improve for you."

"Thanks, Gavin."

He left her in the entryway of the residence halls, and she slowly began the trek down the corridor and back to her room. After another spoonful of cold medicine, she fell into bed and went straight to sleep, only briefly awoken once that evening when her roommate entered. Christine groggily lifted her head up as the door squeaked opened. Jamie looked down at her with wide eyes and a face flushed with cold. She was only vaguely aware of her roommate saying something about seeing a ghost, before falling back to sleep. She didn't care about ghosts at the moment. She was already haunted.

**OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO**

From inside his coastal whitewashed apartment, Frederick Oliver glanced toward the picture window that faced the Spanish shoreline and shook his head in annoyance. The weather was unseasonably warm, the blue water glistening beneath the bright autumn sun, and he was forced to remain inside that afternoon. Drawing his eyes away from the tempting sight of the beach, he slowly slipped on a pair of thick eyeglasses. He didn't wear them often, as he thought they made him appear old and withered. As he stared intently toward the computer screen, though, he wanted a perfect view of what he was about to be shown.

"I'm sending the photos now," sounded an older man's voice from a nearby speaker phone. "Are you ready?"

"All logged in and ready," replied Frederick, eagerly leaning forward in the leather desk chair. He dared not to get his hopes up too high, for the entire thing had seemed almost too easy. Still, excitement coursed through his veins. _What if it really was the right body? What if this entire annoyance was all over? What if the masked freak was less invincible than he appeared? _

As he clicked on the newly received file and waited for the pictures of the body to materialize on his screen, Frederick braced himself for that familiar horrific visage. The sight of that face was certainly not going to be easy on the stomach. He remembered the last time he had seen it over a decade ago, when that demon of a man had been confined to a cell. The image was permanently engraved into his mind. On the left side, the face had all the appearances of a rotting skull, the yellow eye pushed so deeply into its socket that it was almost invisible. The man had absolutely no nose to speak of, save a flap of skin over a triangular hole, and the lips on the left were thin, pale, and almost non-existent. His cheekbone protruded so sharply, that it looked as though it would poke right through the sallow flesh.

If the left side looked like a skull, then the right side appeared as though no bone even existed beneath it, as if the skin was just heaped atop flaccid muscle with no structural support. Somewhere buried in the sagging, unshaped flesh was the right eye. The lips on the right side were bulged, making his entire mouth appear to be twisted into a horrific knot. All of his skin was a pale and grayish color, tinged with yellow around the cheeks. His hair consisted only of sparse, dark wisps.

Frederick shuddered in utter disgust and forced himself to look at the photographs that had popped up on the computer. He felt simultaneous relief and anger as he now stared at the corpse of a younger man who looked only vaguely familiar. There were several red scars engraved into his face, along with a blue marking along his forehead where work had been done to repair the damage caused by the bullet. Mr. Oliver sighed in agitation and rubbed a hand over his face. "You call this man hideously deformed?" he finally hissed into the phone.

"Well, there were scars," slowly explained the investigator. "As this man was with the other two…we just assumed….."

"Do not just assume anything!" Frederick yelled. "My life and the lives of my family are at stake, and this madman is still on the loose. I told you that the culprit was hideous beyond belief. This is not hideous! It's barely even ugly. This man that you shot was one of the fifty or so working for me in London!"

"My apologies, Mr. Oliver. We had no idea of your plans." The investigator sounded slightly annoyed. "Perhaps you should notify us before you take matters into your own hands, eh? Anyway, we'll get this cleared up as soon as possible."

"Wait. Wait. Wait," said Frederick with a sigh. "See that none of this makes it to the press. Allow the public to continue to believe that we have the right man. It may work to our advantage if the psychopath no longer believes that he's being sought. Maybe not…but worth a try. Meanwhile, ensure that the other two suspects are kept under constant watch. "

"Of course. We'll keep things quiet and secure. The press has shown little interest in this, anyway. Not sensational enough for them."

"Very good." He paused, turning off the computer screen and leaning back into the rolling chair. "And inform everyone there that, if there are any more such mistakes, some people are going to start losing their jobs. Do I make myself clear?"

"Mr. Oliver….Do you really think that….."

Frederick hung up before the irritating man could finish and removed his eye glasses. A brief feeling of agitation overtook him, and a slight chill traveled down his spine as he realized that he was no longer safe. He considered whether to deliver the bad news to de Chagny. The boy had sounded rather relieved to hear about the possible death of the masked man during their last conversation. It might send him into a panic to know that the psychopath was still on the loose. He might even refuse to testify. No. Frederick decided to leave the matter alone for now, to see how things played out.

The masked man's next move would either be an attempt to free his comrades or another try at claiming his long sought revenge, and Mr. Oliver was very prepared for both scenarios.

**OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO**

Perhaps Christine finally knew that she was in true trouble when her voice cracked one day before the first concert, with the second recital taking place only a week later and for more evaluative purposes. By now, the cold had mostly left her lungs and nose, meaning there was no way to blame her failures on the illness anymore.

She stood in a practice room by herself that cloudy and windy afternoon, her music sheets within one trembling hand. Her final choice of song for tomorrow evening was an aria from _Il Rè Pastore_, a piece designed for either a soubrette or a lyric coloratura. At the time of choosing it, she had full confidence in her voice. Now….well…it would almost be in her best interest to tell her professors that she was still too sick to perform, but that would hurt her standing at the university. Christine stared blankly at the wall, a knot forming in the back of her throat. _What if her voice really was gone forever? Then what? Did she go back home? Get married? Was that it? Is this it!_

She began to sing again, praying she could find that drive, attempting to put emotion and soul back into her lackluster voice. Christine closed her eyes and inhaled, focusing on each individual note and attempting to stay in tune. And for a very brief moment, she found herself and her voice again. The feeling was odd and invigorating as she continued to stand there with her eyelids shut, oblivious to her surroundings. It was the feeling of not being alone. Energy returned to her voice, and she could hear that sparkle of greatness even in her own mind. _Yes. There it was. She could do this._

When she opened her eyes and saw nothing but the plain grey walks of the practice room, though, her tone once again deadened and her voice became flat. _No. It was gone again._ An eerie silence reigned for several seconds. Christine took several steps backwards, as though frightened by the sudden emptiness, before turning around and running out the door with her backpack.

In the end, she decided to go through with the concert, unable to find the courage to confess that she was literally no longer able to sing. How could she explain that to her professors and peers? Although she wanted to ask Gavin's advice, she didn't want to bother him while he was with his fiancée. He didn't need to be burdened with her problems anymore. When she mentioned it to Meg over the telephone, her old friend suggested that it might just be stress. She didn't openly disagree, but Christine knew that wasn't the reason. _I can't sing because my voice is dead. And I don't know if it's going to come back..._

Her performance took place on a Wednesday evening, and she stood to the side of the stage on that day at the concert hall, praying for a miraculous recovery. In the distance, she could hear one of the choirs singing a part from _The Magic Flute_, the hollow voices echoing through the auditorium. Christine took a long and deep breath, feeling her hands grow cold with anxiety. She attempted to smooth out the velvet of her long-sleeved, midnight blue dress, praying she didn't look as terrible as she felt. Her hair was conveniently pulled away from her face with a plastic clip, and a pair of silver earrings hung from her ears.

An acquaintance from one of her classes wished her good luck, and she murmured a quiet thank you. People passed on both sides of her, a blur of faces that she couldn't recognize. Amidst the chaos and voices, she vaguely heard an announcement at the microphone.

"Let's give a hand to our chamber choir." A short round of applause followed. Christine leaned against the wall to steady herself. "And now, Christine Daae will be singing "Alla selva," an aria from _Il Rè Pastore. _Ms. Daae is one of our newest performers."

Her heart jumped. In almost a trance, she slowly walked forward and climbed up onto the stage, her heels clicking hollowly against the tiles. Her eyes widened as she stared down into a mass of faces. Some people were whispering to one another and looking upwards, likely recognizing her from the television. In reality, the enormous room was barely half-filled for the event, but in her mind the world was watching. Her hands continued to tremble. _Oh God. I don't belong here. I don't belong here._

She forced a smile onto her face and swallowed, positioning herself over the microphone. The orchestra began to softly play in the background, signaling that her time was coming. After taking another deep breath of blessed oxygen, Christine finally opened her mouth to begin the song. Suddenly, her mind went blank. No sound emerged, save a soft choke from the back of her throat. A feeling of horror gripped her, and she again made another futile attempt to sing.

She could hear the audience shift within their seats, along with the sounds of rustling papers and clothing. Someone softly chuckled. Out of the corner of her eye, she knew that her professors were staring at her with disapproval, watching as she damaged their images as well as her own. Her face was growing warm, her forehead becoming clammy. Murmurs began from below, slowly growing louder with each passing second, ringing horribly in her ears.

"Hey, blondie!" came a younger male voice from somewhere in the back. "Do something!"

She again tried to begin singing, tried to remember the words, but there was no longer anything left. And she knew it. She had known it for some time. Her voice was gone. Tears formed in her eyes, and she no longer cared what anyone below thought of her. There was only the all-consuming ache. Desperately, she began to search for the focus to just jump off the stage and never look back.

The noise in the room had reached a dull roar; people likely discussing the poor, damaged, kidnapped girl who stood standing there like a mental hospital patient. _I've got to get out of here. _

And then came the booming voice.

"_Silence_!"

Her head snapped up as the room suddenly became deathly quiet. The audience quickly glanced around and upwards, searching for the source of the loud and eerie voice that had burst into the auditorium and suppressed every other sound. Someone laughed nervously. Awoken from her stupor, Christine looked to her sides in a state of shock. _No…It couldn't be. She was going insane. She was hearing things now. But everyone else heard it, too. Why was everyone else looking around? _

Now, the exact same tenor voice spoke again, only this time it was softer, sounding as if it was right beside her ear. No one else heard it. "Sing, Christine," it whispered. "As your teacher once taught you. Ignore _them_. They are nothing….insignificant. Inhale. And sing for yourself alone."

Her fingers curled at her sides, and she again looked around. _Was this real?_ _Was she dreaming?_ A shaky breath shook her lungs.

Again it came. "Sing, Christine."

As the confused murmurs of the audience drifted into the background of her mind, she suddenly began to sing. Her gaze stayed forward, as though she were slightly in a trance, and her voice came smoothly and naturally. The start of the piece was loud and forceful, and everyone else fell completely silent, listening to the chime-like soprano voice that was encompassing the room. A small smile graced her lips as she continued onwards and pushed everything from her mind except the music. Each note was pure and in tune, held for the perfect amount of time.

When it was all over and the song faded into the silence, Christine momentarily stood there, almost oblivious to the roaring sound of applause. Her head spun as she regained her senses and attempted to focus on what had just happened. The room blurred and came back into view. _She had done it! She had sung!_

_But had all of it been real? Yes. It had. She knew it had! She had heard it! Everyone had heard it! She couldn't be crazy._

Grabbing the bottom of her dress away from the floor, she turned toward stage right and flew down the short flight of steps and out the door of the gigantic room. Heart pounding, Christine blankly looked around. Save for a few people standing at the exits, she was alone in the corridor. _Or was she really?_ The knowledge that she might have imagined the entire thing continued to grate at her.

From behind a pair of glass double doors, she could see that it was now pitch-black outside. The solitude of the night time beckoned her, and she was suddenly overtaken by a feeling that wavered between exhilarated joy, confusion, and pure fear.

She stood there for a moment longer, before slowly beginning to walk forward.


	23. Sanity

Hey guys! I'm still enjoying all your comments. I'm thrilled that so many people are reading this little saga. The next weeks are starting to get busy so there may be a delay in updates sometimes. I'll try to keep the next chapters devoid of cliff-hangers so you don't mind some time in between chapters. They're more developmental before we start getting into the drama again, but I hope you enjoy them.

**Read and Review!**

As she pulled open the glass doors and stepped into the October air, Christine felt as though she were in a hazy dream. The cold breeze snapped her back into reality as it seeped through the thinner material of her dress, and she inhaled deeply to clear her mind. It was fairly quiet outside, the chirping nocturnal insects now long gone as winter drew nearer. Several front lights were on, and shadows were scattered about the area, shifting occasionally as the landscaped trees rocked back and forth. Her heart beat steadily as she looked around in the darkness. _For what, though?_ Had she just needed some fresh air…some time to recover herself?

The reality of what had occurred was still setting in, and she hadn't yet determined what parts were real and what was imagined. Everyone had heard the voice that had commanded silence; that had been real. The voice that had guided her singing and renewed her confidence could have originated from her mind. _But what if it hadn't? What if it was all real?_

She leaned her head against the rough stones of the building, feeling slightly dizzy. At that moment, just as she had in the practice room, Christine suddenly sensed that she was not alone. No other souls were in her line of vision. "What's going on?" she whispered, feeling goose bumps gather on her arms. She looked around at the shadows. "Are you there?" she asked in a louder voice, knowing that she must appear insane. "Is anyone there?" Tears of confusion and frustration gathered in her eyes. She didn't expect an answer. _She'd just wanted it to be true……_

"Is it not preferable to remember a mere voice inside your head?" The whispered words floated around her. "A possible delusion that occurred during a period of stress? You could convince yourself that it was all in your mind. The truth could be so much worse…Ms. Daae."

Her head snapped up as the tenor voice came from somewhere in the darkness, and she desperately searched for its point of origin. Her adrenaline flowed now, as perhaps a part of her mind sensed that she might be in danger. Still, her need to know if this was real reigned supreme.

"No," she finally stated, turning in a circle. "No. Please. I have to know." Slight desperation marred her tone. "Please. Where are you?" Her heart was hammering. She still didn't know for sure if she was imagining this. A part of her wanted to retreat into the warm and crowded building, to hide from either a frightening and wonderful reality or from her own twisted illusions.

"Christine…" came what sounded more like a weary sigh in the light breeze.

"Please," she whispered. "Let me see you!" She walked forward to look behind a corner, wincing as she hit the sensitive nerve in her elbow against a metal railing. A sob escaped her throat as nothing materialized and no more sounds were heard. _Good God! _She was crazy! Everything was inside of her head, to the point where it sounded completely real. Christine rubbed her hands over her tear-filled eyes as a feeling of grief consumed her. With only silence now surrounding her, she slowly prepared to go back inside, to escape from the darkness and try to repair what was left of her shattered sanity.

As she slowly raised her head upwards and began to walk with her shoulders slumped toward the glass doors, she suddenly felt a presence on her left. Christine whirled around to face it, blinking in disbelief as her eyes traveled up the darkly-clothed shape and finally met with two glowing stars. She couldn't help but softly gasp and draw back slightly as her mind comprehended what it was seeing. "Oh!" she finally whispered in recognition, raising a trembling hand to her lips. "Erik…." She blinked several more times to ensure he was not a figment of her imagination. "Erik!"

His looming silhouette did not move, concealed in the shadows of the building and visible to her alone. After allowing her a moment of recovery, he began to speak, his voice much closer than it had been. "If you would do your former teacher the divine favor of not shrieking at the top of your lungs, I will explain my presence," he slowly began. She could only nod, too much in shock to be either afraid or elated. Still, no impulse came over her to run or scream. She was simply frozen. "I am here only to bear witness to our accomplishment, to hear a piece of what I assisted in creating. It was…" He paused again and glanced away from her. "It was of some satisfaction for me to discover your pursuance of your talent, you see."

It took her a moment to register his words."You...you wanted to hear me sing?" she choked out, wiping the tears from her cheeks. Reality was slowly setting in.

"Yes! Only to hear you!" he quickly agreed, leaning forward slightly. "Just to hear you. It is not my intention to bring terror to you. No. I will not this time. My presence was meant to go unnoticed, but it appeared you were in need of assistance this evening. And…you seemed intent on wandering through the darkness to find the truth…Christine…." He gestured to himself with both hands. "A ghost would have been better, no? An illusion? But you were insistent on the wretched truth. And so I gave it to you." His bony hands fell down to his sides.

"I…" she shakily began, still feeling as though she were half-dreaming. _He was really alive!_ "I wanted to know the truth." She ignored the strange look that entered his eyes and continued, somehow sensing that he was preparing to disappear again. "How long have you been here?"

He paused. "Over a week, I would imagine. A fortnight, perhaps. Once again, I request that you not run screaming to the authorities and to your…_fiancé_." His tone became colder. "After your second performance, I will permanently remove my presence from your life. You need not even see me after this night."

"Erik. I…." She didn't even know what to say. It was finally dawning upon her that he thought she truly hated him. There was still fear, yes, but certainly not hatred. _He was alive! _And she was nothing but devastatingly grateful for that fact. Wanting to reach out but not knowing where to began, Christine offered him all she could at that moment. "I won't tell anyone you're here."

She thought she saw him nod once in the darkness. The yellow eyes lingered on her for a few seconds more, and his shoulders appeared to relax slightly. "I will give you no reason to regret that statement." He suddenly turned, and Christine knew he was about to leave.

"Erik!" Her voice came out louder than she meant it to be. He paused in his steps but didn't turn around. Christine swallowed, wondering what her own intentions now were. "Is it….is it true about Nadir and Darius?"

He quickly turned to face her, a slightly more dangerous glint in his eyes. "What have you heard of them?" he sharply asked.

She inhaled, realizing that she was delving into uncertain territory. Still, there was a deep need to continue the conversation, to find some sort of understanding in all of this before he disappeared again. "That they went to prison," she softly answered. "In England."

"Who told you this?"

She lowered her eyes. "Raoul."

"What other good news did the boy have for you?"

"I….It wasn't good….Nothing," she lied, not able to explain the trauma of the entire situation. Her mind was still only beginning to comprehend everything. In the morning, she would likely regret not saying or asking certain things. "That was all he told me. Is it true?"

"Yes," Erik finally replied, a hint of weariness entering his voice. "But it is my concern. Do not trouble yourself with the matter. "

"Oh." _So some of it had been true…Just not the worst part. _"I'm sorry. I...didn't want that." Her voice cracked slightly.

A brief flicker of surprise entered his eyes but quickly vanished. "The matter will be resolved," he stated with certainly. "All will come to a very abrupt end soon!" There was an eerie finality to the last statement that disturbed her, and the look of distress was obvious upon her tired features. "You are troubled now? Frightened, no doubt. Wondering what new terrors will come your way? Do not be, Christine. Erik will bother you no more. Rest. Join the throngs of your fellow students and forget this encounter!"

He was gone after that, disappearing before her eyes in a supernatural fashion. She took several steps backward, gripping the metal railing of the stairwell and feeling her heart continue to pound. Her eyes stayed on the spot where he had been, even as two other people passed by her. Her mind slowly processed it. _He was alive. Alive! And she had just been speaking to him. He had just been here. And it was real! She knew it was!_

A part of her was anxious and unsure, for she remembered of what he was capable, and his intentions were still unknown. But she was enraptured to know that he lived! There was no way to deny that. A feeling of utter relief surged through her. Even as her hands trembled, a heavy weight left her chest. _But what now? What now?_

Assuming that no direct threat was leveled at her, she would tell no one. Erik was capable of doing whatever he wanted, and he had done nothing so far. Nothing but save her from humiliation upon the stage! Still…had he really only traveled all this way to hear her? And what about Nadir? What were Erik's plans? Dozens of questions raced through her tired mind, and she had to force herself to focus on her current surroundings. She would become dizzy if she tried to think about it all now. The night had already been overwhelming.

After taking one last glance backwards, she turned and headed back into the building with a new energy flowing through her veins. The concert was over, and people were just beginning to leave the auditorium. As she immersed herself in the crowd of faces, she was vaguely aware of several older women staring at her and whispering. She didn't care at that moment. Let them think whatever they wanted about her. She felt alive again.

Her eyes scanned the shadows as she walked to her dormitory that night, but nothing appeared out of the ordinary beneath the light of the half moon. The adrenaline that was produced by simultaneous fear and joy did not allow her to sleep well, and her stomach was knotted with anxiety. Still, the sensation was better than the despair that had been there earlier. She eagerly waited for the light and the morning to deliver some clarity. And perhaps the darkness of the following night would bring more answers, despite _his_ vow to stay away. She stared up at the ceiling as she lay in bed. _Would she see him again?_

It was only during the following morning that Christine began to realize the more disturbing implications of this entire thing. Removing a towel from her freshly washed hair, she suddenly noticed a note by the telephone in Jamie's handwriting. Raoul had called while she was at the concert. Slowly, she took a seat upon the bed and stared straight ahead, subconsciously twisting the ring that decked her finger. An unpleasant taste filled her mouth. She'd always been an honest person, but there was no way around this. Her fiancé could never find out that Erik was still alive….

Christine swallowed, quickly pushing away any feelings of panic.

_It was better for everyone that way. _

* * *

As Nadir sat inside the prison cell for the start of the third week, it began to dawn upon him that there were players in this game outside of the London police. He'd been given no sort of legal representation, and no one had told him of either a court date or possible extradition. He was just being held there with the same dreary routine every day, not even questioned for information anymore. It occurred to him that he might be bait of some kind. Bait for what? _Erik, obviously._

He said a short prayer in the hopes that his masked friend would not fall for any sort of trap. And yet, with the entire plan destroyed and everything ripped apart, Nadir had the feeling that Erik might be bordering on suicidal, ready to do anything as long as it meant that Oliver was taken down. He prayed that Erik had found something to sustain himself. With the prized music and the violin gone, though, Mr. Khan's hopes were dim.

How long had he known Erik now? It was slightly less than thirty years, he supposed. Of course, Erik had been imprisoned for ten of those years, but he had been on Nadir's mind during that entire time. Mr. Khan had believed his masked comrade to be dead for nearly a decade, feeling almost as though he'd lost another son. _And when Erik had returned after all that time in jail…_Nadir shuddered, remembering those two angry, tortured golden eyes.

Only in times of such hopelessness did Nadir realize how much he did care for his comrade in an almost paternal way. No matter what he'd seen Erik do over the years, even the most ruthless acts, he'd stayed with him, always feeling that some justice was deserved on both their behalves.

Sitting on the cot, he placed his forehead into his palms, remembering the first time they had met.

The month following the death of his wife and child, Nadir had returned to the house in the country and gone through a short period of mourning. He would sit on the decrepit wooden porch and just stare out into the green fields, only heading into town for the most basic necessities. An empty ache lingered in the middle of his chest, a hole that he doubted would ever be filled. He wondered whether he should try to return to Iran, hope that the government held no ill will toward him, although that was unlikely. He had some friends in Northern India as well. There was nothing left for him here, or anywhere in Europe for that matter.

About two months after the tragedy, he was walking down the dirt road, pondering the state of his existence. He was still fairly young. Why should his life cease when he was barely past thirty? And yet…he was not sure how to begin again. Glancing toward something darker in the side of his vision, Nadir realized that he was passing Maddy's house. The sight of the dilapidated home was not pleasant, the wood decaying and the shrubbery overgrown. He thought he was able to see a light on the inside, though.

Pausing beside the house, Nadir looked up toward the second story, his eyes immediately widening in surprise. Someone was looking at him through a dusty window. The person's face was strangely obscured, but it appeared to be a child.

Recovering from his shock, he slowly raised his right hand and waved. The curtain closed, and the person disappeared. He glanced toward the door for a moment, feeling slightly disturbed. _Did Madeleine no longer live there?_ Curiosity tugged at him, and he began to walk up the chipped stone pathway. It was a brief distraction from the pain that constantly ate at him. Besides, if it was a different resident, he could just claim to be a neighbor paying a visitation.

Taking a breath, he knocked at the front door, hearing the noise echo on the inside. Feeling disappointed when no one answered, he tried once again. "I am coming!" an almost angry female voice exclaimed. Nadir distinctly recognized it as Madeleine's.

He took a step backwards as the door abruptly flew open and blinked at the disgruntled woman before him. She was still extremely gaunt, her curly hair limp and frizzed at the sides of her face and her sky-blue housedress wrinkled and stained. "Nadir," she whispered after a moment, her dark brown eyes blinking in disbelief. "Dear Lord. It has been forever."

"Hello, Madeleine," he softly stated. "Yes. It has been a while. How are you?"

"I…" She cleared her throat. "I am getting by," she answered, quickly gathering her composure and taking on a slightly colder tone. "And yourself?"

"The same. Getting by." Nadir paused. "My wife passed on several months ago."

She slowly nodded. "I am sorry. You have my sympathies." Maddy sharply glanced backwards once, before turning around again, her face expressionless. "Can I help you with something?"

"I just came by to pay a short visit. I may not be in France much longer."

"I see. Well…there is not much to see here, Mr. Khan. Nothing at all. I wish you good luck on your journey." He was about to reply when he heard a creaking noise from somewhere above them. Nadir turned his head to look behind her, seeing nothing but a dusty living area with aging furniture. An expression of fear twisted Maddy's features. "It is best that you go," she frantically continued. "Now!"

Nadir moved forward to keep her from closing the door, his eyes still focused upon the living room. "There is someone else here," he stated with certainty.

"No! There is no one!" she exclaimed, attempting to block the exit. Her eyes suddenly filled with tears. "There is no one! Just leave Nadir…Please…"

He gently pushed past her, smelling dust and mustiness. Maddy put up little resistance, as if a part of her wanted him to discover the secret. "Hello?" he called, hearing his voice echo off the ceilings. "Who is here?"

"Please…Nadir…." Maddy whispered from behind him.

"Who is here?" he angrily asked, turning around to face her. "A man? Maddy, I have little interest in your love affairs, if that's what this is about. But please tell me who is here with you. Why are you shaking like that?"

"A man?" She laughed in a strange, sarcastic way. "A man?" she asked, releasing a high-pitched giggle. "Oh, Mr. Khan! You are the first real man I have seen in some time. Oh…God….No. There is no man. "

"Maddy." He gently but firmly took her shoulders, beginning to question the woman's sanity. "Who is here with you? Please. You are worrying me."

"Fine," she murmured. "If you want to see, you will see." She sighed and turned away from him. After another moment, Maddy inhaled deeply before tilting her chin upwards. "Erik!" she suddenly yelled. "Erik! Come down here now!"

Nadir looked around the room curiously, feeling slightly uneasy in the situation. It was completely quiet for several moments. Maddy sighed in agitation, her fingers clenching into fists and a frown twisting her mouth. "Erik!" She gritted her teeth. "You get down here now, or I swear to God that I will punish you later. Do I make myself clear? _Now!_"

Silence again reigned. From the way that Madeleine was speaking, Nadir almost expected a dog to come trotting down the stairs. Instead, there was the very faint sound of slow, descending footsteps. He held his breath, blinking in slight shock as a boy of around six or seven suddenly stood before him. The child was frighteningly thin with almost white skin, dressed in a pair of loose brown trousers and a wrinkled grey dress shirt that was way too large for his skinny frame. Oddest of all, a mask of brown cloth covered his entire face, displaying only the faint shine of two oddly-shaded eyes.

"By Allah," Nadir whispered in shock, gazing over the boy. He slowly turned around and faced Maddy. "This is….This is your son?"

She looked to the floor. "Yes," she murmured. "Erik."

The boy just stood there motionlessly, staring back without blinking or speaking. Nadir swallowed thickly, before slowly bending down and holding out a hand. "It is nice to meet you, Erik," he stated, forcing a smile. "My name is Nadir." The boy silently stared at the offered hand as if the gesture were foreign to him.

Maddy sighed miserably. "Erik," she harshly began. "Speak when you are spoken to. Nadir is a guest in our house." He heard her mutter something under her breath. "_The first guest we've had in years…_."

"It is fine," Nadir interceded. He withdrew his hand but refrained from stepping backward. _Was the child somehow mentally impaired?_ "How old are you, Erik?"

"Seven."

Nadir blinked in surprise at the strange voice, finding it both pleasing and haunting. "Seven," he managed to repeat. "Very good, then." The two yellow eyes studied him. _No. The child wasn't mentally impaired…_.Far from it. Nadir could see a strange intelligence in those eyes that went far beyond Erik's age. Mr. Khan made no mention of the mask, only assuming that something must be very wrong with the lad's face for him to wear it around the house.

After several moments of uncomfortable silence, Maddy finally spoke, her voice hoarse. "You may return to your room now, Erik." Before Nadir could blink, the boy had vanished up the stairs again without a word.

"All this time, Maddy?" Nadir softly asked, again turning around. "When you said you had lost the child…it was a lie?" He took her silence as an affirmation. "Why?"

"Oh! You don't understand, Nadir!" she exclaimed in a hushed voice, bringing a hand to her forehead. "You don't know what he looks like under….No. Of course, you can't understand. You can't understand any of this. " She turned away from him, her arms folded at her chest. "Maybe you should leave as well now. I won't expect you back."

"Madeleine," he pled, feeling bewildered. "What is this all about? Why do you hide your child? Why this isolation?"

"Just leave!"

"Maddy! This makes no sense!"

After another moment of stoic silence, she suddenly began to cry into her hands, her shoulders shaking. "Nadir," she began between sobs. "My life has been hell." Maddy whirled around and gripped onto his shoulders almost desperately. "Please! Please don't leave me alone here with him forever! Please don't go. I can't stand being like this any longer! I cannot!"

Shocked, Nadir slowly wrapped his arms around her frail shoulders to calm her down. She buried her face into his chest, continuing to weep. "What on earth is wrong, Maddy? Explain all of this to me!"

"I've been trapped for years," she sickly whispered. "Nadir. He's not right. His face….Oh God. Don't ever look! If you see, you'll never want to come back here. And he's always looking at me…. Always watching me….."

Nadir swallowed and glanced backwards to ensure that no one was eavesdropping. The entire scenario was making him nauseous. "Well, Maddy." He kept his voice calm. "It is normal for children to watch their parents. That is how they learn. As you are his only parent, I'm sure he simply wants to spend time with you."

"Not like this!" she exclaimed. "Those two eyes are always following me around. And he's not right. He could speak before he was one! And he says these odd things that no normal child would say. Things that I don't even understand! He can play music…unnatural music on that piano. I don't even go near the piano anymore!"

"Perhaps he is simply very intelligent," offered Nadir with a sigh. "And to have no other social contact with the world…" he continued with slight irritation. "Well…he is bound to be…."

"No," she interrupted. "I think there is something wrong with him. Perhaps he is punishment for my sins…..That is what my grandmother said before she died. He is punishment. He cannot even go into the daylight. Like a demon."

"Madeleine!" he began, almost angry by this point. _What was wrong with the woman?_ "He is just a little boy! Nothing more than that. That is just silly superstition. It is the twentieth century!"

She shook her head into his shoulder in denial. "Please don't leave me, Nadir! Please. I can't stand it any longer! Promise you'll come back!"

He sighed again. It was obvious that the woman had limited sanity, and he could only imagine what life had been like for the both of them. "I will return for visits, Maddy," he said in a soothing voice. "I…would like to get to know your son better."

_She had just nodded with utter gratitude. _

Nadir wondered if he had sealed his fate on that day by offering to return. He glanced up as a prison guard passed his cell, his surroundings dim and devoid of hope. That thought crossed his mind occasionally, although he always felt guilty for thinking about it. What if had never gone back there? What if he had moved on….married again…had a child?

Erik would have remained in that house forever, Nadir supposed. He would have remained hidden away from everyone and everything, both the cruelties and joys of living. But was that any worse that what had eventually happened? Maybe not.

Anyhow, it really did no good to question the past.

Or to fear the future.


	24. Common Ground

Hey guys! Thanks for your reviews! The e-mail function was being a little strange last time. If something seems off to you in this chapter, you may want to make sure that you read the previous one. With that said, I hope you continue to enjoy the story. Like I said before, there will be slower-paced chapters for a little while.

**Read and Review!**

Despite her whispered words from the previous evening, he fully expected Christine to inform the authorities that her kidnapper had returned to haunt her. Why wouldn't she do such a thing? Why wouldn't she desperately attempt to rid her life of the thing that had nearly destroyed it? And still, even knowing these blatant facts, he did not make a quick departure. As the sun began to set during the following day, he returned to his spot in the shadows with the sole intent of catching another glimpse of her.

The previous night, he had verbally berated himself for speaking to her, for making his presence known. _Imbecile! Idiot!_ _Can you not keep your hideous mouth closed?_ _Pathetic, vile thing! _Perhaps he was lucky that the warehouse in which he had taken cover had been isolated, or else someone might have heard his raging, self-directed rant. He had pounded the thin, metal walls of the shelter with his bare fists, earning several purple bruises on his white knuckles. He had paced back and forth against the cold concrete floors for nearly an hour. _Pathetic._

Used to having his music to bring him solace, he had to force himself to calm down before someone did hear the thunderous noise. Once he had managed to find control, he forced himself to figure out why he had chosen to interfere. The answer to that question was disgustingly obviously. He could not bear seeing her fall apart up there, to see her mocked and ridiculed by an ignorant crowd when she should have been cheered and lauded. Especially when it came to her voice, he could not hold back that need for perfection and the desire to see her succeed. His judgment had been completely clouded in those moments, and his focus had been on her and nothing else.

It should have ended there. He should have left her to believe him a figment of her imagination and vanished to the other side of the world. Foolishly, he had later answered her as she called into the night for the source of her torment. _Why had he spoken back? Just to hear her a few minutes longer. _

_And you will likely have the entire country's law enforcement chasing you with loaded rifles and pitchforks because of your disgusting stupidity! Do you really expect her to keep silent?_

Still, her reaction had been much better than he could have hoped to expect, perhaps one of the first times in many months that something had turned in his favor. She had not screamed, fled in the other direction, or even shrunk away from him in horror. Even if she was terrified, his presence had not put his former pupil into a state of hysteria. If she had lied, she had still treated him with unusual civility. _Civility_….such a concept was taken for granted by the human race. She had granted him a moment of dignity, and so he chose to linger a few days longer near her presence.

He finally saw her walking down the sidewalk and immediately felt some of his tension become replaced with quietude. She was with another female, her head upright as she nodded and spoke. As Christine turned her face to the side, he noticed that some color had returned to her cheeks. _Good. She was in better health._ A disconcerted glint still remained in her eyes, though, as if she carried an invisible burden on her shoulders. She shrugged once amidst the conversation, and the other female soon waved farewell and headed in the opposite direction. Christine adjusted her backpack and started to slowly walk toward her dormitory. Suddenly, she paused and turned around, staring into the distance with a solemn expression. Her eyes wandered over the massive buildings, over the shadows and the spot where he continued to stand unseen.

_She was searching for him. _He clenched his jaw in self-hatred. She knew that he was haunting her. Her eyes continued to search the corners, and she almost looked as though she would start walking in his direction. Her hands were trembling, he noticed. _She was frightened_. He quickly turned and darted into the opposite direction.

_He should leave now. _That she had not informed the entire world of his existence was nothing short of miraculous. He should leave her in peace. The mission still lay unfinished before him, didn't it? Oliver continued to walk the earth. That disgusting excuse for a human being should be lying in his grave by now, red rope burns scarring his dying flesh. _He_ should stop this game and do what needed to be done. _He_ was waiting for nothing, endlessly tormenting himself by staying so near something that was untouchable.

An invisible chain continued to hold him there, though. He would allow himself to hear her one last time, he bargained with his mind. Did he not have at least that right? _Yes. He did. This was partly his victory._ He couldn't leave yet. He would hear her sing again.

She did not appear the following evening, much to his chagrin. Perhaps she was avoiding the night time now. Paranoia overtook him when he heard footsteps coming up from behind, and he quickly reached for the lasso, expecting to come face to face with a man in uniform. As a disoriented female scurried past him in the dark, he drew back into the shadows and released his hold on the weapon. _No. No one had come for him. No one knew of him yet. Except for her. _

The next night, she was walking by herself, hugging her arms against her torso as the colder wind blew against her. It was cloudy, and so he had chosen to come out earlier than usual. Her feet dragged slightly as she walked forward, but her skin color was still better, no longer the shade of his own death's flesh at least. Her gaze focused upon the shadows again, and frown lines were evident in her face. She stopped walking and just stood there staring into the distance. Suddenly, she began to tread in his direction.

_No, Christine! Why will you not let me have peace for these last days? Forget Erik! _She stopped several yards to the right of him, squinting in the darkness and nervously wringing her hands together. He considered leaving. She was too close. Instead, he merely ensured that his masked face could not be seen, knowing his eyes would be visible in the dark. _That had always horrified his mother at night. _The thoughts of the past were quickly suppressed as she began to speak, her voice fainter in the wind.

"Are you there?" she softly asked with a slight quiver. Several other students passed by her, and she glanced toward them anxiously before turning around again. His muscles tensed_. She was so close._ "I've…I've been looking for the past few days thinking that you were nearby. I've just had this feeling…" She paused, her eyes darting around nervously. "But maybe you're not. Maybe I'm just talking to myself." Christine sighed and looked to the ground, perhaps waiting for a response. None came. "I…I haven't told anyone," she whispered. "I won't."

He refrained from speaking to her, pressing himself into the wall until the rough stones dug into his thinly-stretched skin and bones. The pain was a welcomed distraction; it kept him from speaking to her.

"If you are there…" There was a rasp in her voice, and she quickly cleared her throat. "If you're there, I…I need some help with my next song. My voice is kind of a mess. It has been….for awhile. Maybe you could help…." She paused again. "Or just talk to me."

His fingers curled. _Why? Why would she request his company? _The yellow slits narrowed in suspicion. _Was this some sort of entrapment?_ _Would she use her divine instrument, his own creation, to lure him into the hands of the authorities? His devious angel…_Yet, he still could not hate her. He adored her, no matter what she did at that moment. But he was not blind enough to let her lead him to his death…no….Not before Nadir. Not before the death of Oliver. He briefly lifted his head to glance at her. There was a deeply disturbed look in her glistening eyes. _Leave me in peace…Christine…_

"Erik." Her chin tilted toward the ground, and she slowly turned to walk in the opposite direction with another soft sigh. He thought he saw her wipe her cheek with the palm of her hand. She sniffled twice and coughed once. Just as he began to let his guard down, Christine turned around and spoke again. "There's one more thing," she whispered. "I…I couldn't say it the other night. I…." She swallowed. "Raoul thinks you're dead. Someone told him that in England…." She stopped for a moment. "Someone told him that you were killed. I don't know if that's important or not. Or maybe you already knew. Maybe it doesn't matter."

She finally stopped speaking and took several steps backward, nearly stumbling in the process, before grabbing the side of the wall to steady herself. "There's no one here," he heard her whisper in resignation. His twisted lips parted to speak to her now as an odd sensation settled over him, but it was too late. Christine had already turned and began to quickly run in the opposite direction, as though frightened of the silence and the emptiness.

* * *

Over the days following that ethereal night of her first performance, Christine constantly felt as though she were waiting for something. There was a gnawing in the pit of her stomach that distracted her, and she was never able to concentrate on anything else. The moments after she had found out he was alive were a torrent of both confusion and utter relief. Once she'd gotten over the shock of the situation, she'd felt like simultaneously laughing and crying. The worst had not happened. He was not dead_. Not dead!_ Now, though, an anxiety was beginning to build. It had started when she'd called Raoul back after finding the note. 

"You sound a bit better," he stated with a light tone, after she'd given him a fairly cheery greeting. "Are you finally over that cold? I was getting worried about you."

She gripped the receiver and forced a smile onto her face. "Yeah! I am feeling better. That was just a bad virus."

"That's good! How did your performance go last night?"

_God forgive me. _"It went well. Normal, I guess."

"That's good." He paused. "Is everything okay?"

"Yes." She swallowed. "Why?"

"Oh. Well, you've just been looking forward to singing for so long. You didn't sound that excited about the concert. I was just wondering if everything went well…."

"Oh!" she exclaimed a little too loudly. "No. It was fine. I'm just tired from it, I guess. Everything went well, though."

"I see. That's good, then." Her fiancé paused again. _Could he sense that something was off? _"So….you're coming home for Thanksgiving soon, right? "

Christine momentarily froze. She hadn't realized how quickly the year was passing by her. "Yeah! I'll be there in about a week. At the airport."

"All right, then. Sounds good. I'll pick you up."

When the conversation ended soon afterwards, Christine had leaned back against the wall and attempted to find some sort of clarity. _What was bothering her so much? _She hadn't exactly lied to Raoul, and the feeling wasn't really guilt. What was it that was making her so worried…so tense? She should be thrilled. _He_ was alive! Was she afraid? No. Not yet, at least. He had promised to stay away. It was very possible that she would never see him again.

Christine gripped onto the covers as her gaze drifted to the floor. _That bothered her._ She might never see him again. The unanswered questions would remain a mystery. She would have no chance of learning the truth once he left. And…..She closed her eyes and deeply inhaled, remembering Gavin's advice to let her thoughts flow freely. And she just wanted to see him again. She needed to talk to him. An ominous feeling told her that Erik's plans for the future were not pleasant.

_All will come to a very abrupt end soon!_

The phrase sent a chill down her spine, and she gripped the covers even tighter, squashing them in the palm of her hand. He sounded as though he were speaking of his own demise. Even in the tone of his voice, Erik sounded ready to die.

Over the next several days, he stayed true to this word. Even as her eyes searched the darkened landscape, she saw nothing. Erik would not come to her again, especially if he believed her to loathe him. If she wanted any chance of seeing her tutor, she would have to call out to him. It was very unsettling going out into the darkness and talking to shadows, never knowing who or what was around her. The only comforts were the other students that continued to pass by her, even if they did think she was crazy. She could feel her hands tremble as she spoke, both fearing and hoping that he was listening. Silence met her, and she began to panic. _What if he was already gone?_ No…he had to hear her sing again. He wouldn't leave before then. He couldn't!

She walked toward the music building that cool, sunny afternoon with a feeling of exhaustion, again thinking back to the previous evening. She'd almost revealed everything in her desperation, wanting someone to speak back to her. She'd even told Erik of his presumed death, hoping that would catch his attention, but there had been nothing but silence. She'd returned to her dorm room and cried in private, releasing her built up stress and frustration. This was becoming too much, talking to something that wasn't there, telling lies to other people to help someone who wasn't there. Feeling completely alone, she almost considered calling Gavin for help but had no idea where to begin. Besides, she still didn't know him well enough to trust him with something as delicate as this.

Christine massaged her temples in distress and finally found an empty practice room. Her voice had returned, but it still wasn't up to par. The constant worry made her unable to relax. Taking a deep breath and loosening her muscles, she attempted some warm-up exercises by herself. Thoughts plagued her mind and grated at her nerves. _Why wouldn't he just talk to her? The silence was unbearable! _Either he was gone or he was just watching her, and neither of those possibilities was appealing. If he would just talk to her, maybe she could help. _Help with what? _

She leaned against a wall and stopped singing, relaxing her back muscles against the cool plaster. _What could she ever do to help?_ She frowned at her own weakness. _What could she ever do to stop him from…?_ She swallowed. A tear of frustration trickled down her cheek.

"You are tense, Christine. Your mind is everywhere but with your voice, just as it was the night of your previous performance. Focus! Clear your head of all else, or you will never perform to your expectations."

"Oh!" She jumped several inches into the air, before holding a hand to her pounding heart and rapidly looking around the empty room. Breathing quickly, Christine realized that no one was with her and leaned back against the wall to steady herself. _But the voice had been real._ "You're here!" she gasped, continuing to look around as her heart throbbed inside of her ears. "Erik. Where are you?"

"Unless there is a nearby theatre production involving some grotesque form of costume, I doubt I would blend in, Christine. No. I am somewhere that I will not be seen, to the benefit of both of us."

"Oh…." She attempted to calm down and focus, to not forgo this opportunity. If he vanished again, there would be no more chances. This was it. She quickly found her voice, still not knowing where to focus her eyes. There were so many small cracks and crevices in the walls and ceiling of the older room. "Erik…I've been looking for…."

"I have questions first, Ms. Daae," he harshly interrupted. "Why does your fiancé believe me dead?"

_So he had been there. She knew it! _"I don't know," Christine softly replied, closing her eyes as the painful memory returned. "He was told that you were…killed when Darius and Nadir were arrested. By the police, I think." She attempted to keep her voice steady.

"From whom did he obtain this information?"

"I don't know. I promise that I don't! That's all he told me."

"And why do you give me this information? How is it to your benefit?"

"What?" She looked up to the ceiling as if he were somehow there, placing her palms upward in a gesture of surrender. "It's not! I just…thought it might be helpful. I don't know." There was silence for several seconds. "I'm sorry if it's not."

"Why do you seek me out, Christine?" he enquired, his voice softer. "It was not my intention to reenter your life. I thought I clearly explained that to you. I will bother you no more. I merely wish to hear you."

_Why? _How could she answer that? She didn't even completely know. Only the partial truth was spoken, the part that would cause the least confusion. "I was hoping you could help me with the final concert. It's in a few days, and they're going to evaluate me." She raised her head and smiled slightly. "There's this program here. An opera institute. It's really selective, and I…I want to start making a good impression. You could help me."

"You are in need of concentration, Christine. Not of training. I could do little for you."

She pursed her lips, wishing she could at least see him. "You helped me at the last concert, though. I was about to leave the stage that night. Maybe if you could just listen and see…what I could change." She paused. "Please."

"I do not have the violin or any music in my possession."

"Where are….?"

"Gone!" he coldly interrupted, although there was a rasp in his voice. She drew back slightly. "Gone with almost everything else, Christine. I…." He became silent again.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, feeling an ache in the center of her chest. She was failing. After all this time, after all that had happened, she was going to drive him away. She felt helpless, meddling in something that was too large and unimaginable for her to handle. Or maybe the task was simply impossible.

"But if you wish, I will listen to you," Erik suddenly continued, causing her to glance up in surprise. "You have a trained ear now, no? And your difficulty is not with your voice. No. It lies within your mind. Concentrate. I will listen, if you wish. We will find the perfection again."

She heard the voice of her teacher return now, a sharp deviance from both the icy hatred he had last displayed during her captivity and from the weariness that had recently marred his tone. Her eyes lit up a little, and she nodded. "Yes! That's fine, if you'll just listen to me."

"Begin when you wish, Ms. Daae."

She nodded and began her warm-ups, finally finding some semblance of concentration. Her voice returned to her in its previous splendor, molded by his occasional comments. Music had again managed to temporarily hold everything together.

There were so many questions left unanswered and intentions left unknown. The future held trials that were perhaps insurmountable, battles that could not always be won. Horrors in the past and present waited in dark corners for their time to reveal themselves. Christine was somehow aware of these facts as she stood there singing scales up and down in a predictable pattern. This was just a place of common ground, a moment of peace in an isolated room.

But this artificial serenity was fine for now. _He_ had not disappeared. For the time being, she could lose herself in the music. His voice guided her with calmness through the exercises. It occurred to her that, if she had never actually seen his frightening figure, she would have imagined him appearing much differently. His voice was so divine, even when speaking, that it was hard to pair it with that pale skin and black-clad, emaciated frame. She pushed the thoughts out of her mind, somehow finding them in bad taste. Erik was who he was.

Christine smiled inwardly as she reached the higher notes of her piece, a slightly embellished form of the aria sung at the previous concert. "You see?" he eagerly enquired. "It was merely your lack of concentration. Your voice is intact!"

"Yes," she murmured. "I have had a lot on my mind."

A knock suddenly sounded at the door, breaking the tranquility. "You almost done in there?" asked a male voice.

Christine's eyes widened. She'd almost forgotten where she was while singing, that there were other people around her. "I'll be out in a little bit!" she called. "Just…give me a couple of minutes."

"Fine," came an annoyed reply.

"It would not be so difficult to make him go away," stated Erik with an edge in his voice. Her eyes widened nervously. A flash of the noose entered her mind, of it dangling in front of her vision, of Buquet. Perhaps he saw her startled expression from wherever he was hiding. "No, Christine. Do not fret. I will not taint your name with any act of mine. It is late, and you have prepared enough. Perhaps it is time for you to depart."

She slowly nodded, hearing that eerie finality in his tone again. "You're...you're staying until my second performance?"

"I intend to hear the product of my partial efforts, yes. Does that bide well with you?"

"Yes," she quickly answered. "I just…" She closed her eyes. _Where was this ever going to lead? _"I'd just like to talk to you again."

A silence followed. "If this is a form of entrapment, I will not be responsible for any lost lives."

She frowned at his implications. "I won't do that, Erik!" she exclaimed, a note of desperation entering her voice. "I promise! I haven't told anyone!"

"Why haven't you told anyone, Christine?"

_Why? Why? Why? _"Because I don't want to," she stated, her gaze falling to the ground. "There's no one to tell."

Silence came again, and she was almost afraid that he had disappeared. "We will speak again before I depart," finally came his soft, stoic response. "If you wish, I will find you later."

She rapidly nodded in relief. "Yes! Thank you. I do…want that."

Another knock sounded at the door. "Come on! You've been in there for over an hour! It's not your damn room! You're not even using it."

Christine tensed, almost feeling Erik's agitation growing and not knowing how far his self-control went. The circumstances were so different now, she realized. It was as though the house by the graveyard had been his world, and now they were in hers. "I'll see you later," she said softly, staring up at the ceiling. She thought she heard someone wish her goodnight, but it might have been her imagination. Picking up her backpack, she slowly opened the door and came out, feeling cooler air brush her warm cheeks.

"It's about time," muttered a stocky boy as he pushed past her with a viola.

"Sorry." She managed a sheepish smile and walked passed him. The anxiety stayed with her as she walked through the corridors, along with a foreboding and uncertain feeling. She had no idea what the future held, and that frightened her terribly.

But that night, she had taken a small step forward in a chosen direction. As she walked outside into the cold November air, she had no choice but to be grateful.


	25. Stay

Hey guys! Thanks for all your comments. This week has been exhausting, so it was especially nice to see them. This chapter is also fairly slow, but it does push things forward in several ways. Hope you enjoy!

**Read and Review!**

There had been a development that day. Nadir had been taken out of his cell at around one in the afternoon and led down a long corridor to a secluded office. A man in a blue suit and red tie had sat across from him and folded his hands upon the desk, before staring forward with a stoic expression. No formalities or greetings were exchanged. The man asked one question. "Where is _he_, Mr. Khan?"

Nadir managed to look him in the eye and imitate the emotionless gaze. "Where is who?"

The man leaned forward slightly, and Nadir could see small crumbs of food in his moustache. "You know who I'm taking about. Now, do you want to make a plea bargain? Is that it? Fine. Here it is. You give us this information, and we won't extradite you to one of the only civilized countries that still has the death penalty. How is that? Is that fair?"

Nadir kept calm. "I do not know who you are speaking of, sir."

After a few more threats, the man finally gave up. As Nadir sat back down in his cell soon afterwards, he couldn't help but feel a bit of pride in all of the misery. He had given nothing away that would lead to his comrade's whereabouts. Wherever Erik was, Mr. Khan continued to hope that he was safe, even if he was miserable.

_True to his word, Nadir had continued to venture over to Madeleine's house on a regular basis._ He had enough money saved to afford both the cheap rent on the property and the bare necessities that a widower needed. Maddy often provided him with food as a sort of gratitude for his visits, and he imagined that she enjoyed spending her free time in the kitchen without having to think about her son.

It took some time before Erik would even speak to him. From what Nadir gathered, the child had very little contact with anyone outside of his mother. According to Maddy, relatives occasionally came over. Many had completely abandoned the small family, although Erik did occasionally mention a great-aunt that he favored. When friends or visitors arrived, Maddy always forced her son upstairs, sometimes denying his existence. "They would never come back if they knew," she had once told Nadir with a pained expression on her face. "They would never come back." Still having a good sum of money left over from Trenton's business, Madeleine regularly paid a man to deliver food, toiletries, and other items. On the rare occasion that she did go out, she locked her son in his upstairs bedroom and had a relative sit with the house.

Mr. Khan was given some relief when he learned that Erik had at least been educated. Trenton had a massive collection of books and magazines with which Maddy had never parted. Even in her fear of her son, she had taken the time to teach him to read and do basic arithmetic. After that, Erik had been able to teach himself. The boy could read and write at a very advanced level, and he had an almost photographic memory that allowed him to memorize a variety of scientific and historical facts. And then there was the music…..

"Do you play that?" he had asked Erik, gesturing over to the piano. He had been looking around the home for most of the afternoon. Madeleine had locked herself in the kitchen, and so her son had taken to shadowing him instead. Nadir had to admit that there was something unnerving about that constant yellow-eyed gaze, but he managed to keep composed.

Erik looked toward the instrument and nodded. "Will you…play something?" Nadir enquired. The boy hesitated, likely used to his mother's disgust with the music, before slowly walking over to the bench and climbing upon it. One of Beethoven's pieces flawlessly rang into the air. Nadir's eyes widened as the small, pale hands flew over the keys with extreme ease. The boy was almost a prodigy. After a couple of weeks, Mr. Khan was no longer surprised by anything that Erik did, from intricate drawings to an almost eerie sort of ventriloquism. An educated man, Nadir had heard of such wondrous children before and was not alarmed, although he was better able to understand Maddy's fear of her son. Erik was likely already more intelligent than she was.

Of course, the true source of her fear had not yet been revealed to him.

"Madeleine?" he softly asked, just as he was getting ready to go home. He had been visiting regularly for two weeks. "Would it be possible for me to see your son's face?"

She paled as she handed him his coat. "No! Please don't ask that, Nadir. You'll never come back. I couldn't stand it if you didn't! Don't ask that."

"I will come back, Maddy. I am just curious. But there is nothing under the mask that will permanently keep me away." Madeleine groaned and rubbed her temples. "I will return. I swear to you."

She sighed. "You will always wonder, won't you?" she softly enquired. "Fine." She looked over his shoulder and raised the volume of her voice. "Erik! Come here!" The boy immediately came out from the back room and stood before them, keeping a distance as if he knew the request would be unpleasant. "Remove your mask," she commanded.

Erik took a step backwards, and the yellow eyes flashed several times. His hands clenched into balls. "Why?"

"Do as I tell you, Erik. Mr. Khan wants to see, and we will grant him that request."

"It is fine," assured Nadir, placing a friendly smile on his face. "No one will hurt you."

"No!" the boy stated with an abnormal amount of anger for a seven-year-old. "Everything looks wrong."

Madeleine sighed in exasperation. "Nadir is aware of that. Now take off the mask, or I will take it off for you. Do you understand?"

The boy hesitated, before slowly reaching up and untying the white strings that held the brown cloth onto his face. He paused again, before finally removing it and letting his arm fall to his side. Nadir felt his heart constrict and his stomach clench. A deep sigh came from the back of his throat, but he forced himself to keep his face expressionless, despite the bile that was collecting in his mouth. He studied the horribly mangled visage, barely a face at all. A weary sadness came over him as he saw that Maddy had not been exaggerating. "I see," he whispered.

Madeleine silently turned away, unable to bear the sight. "Will you be returning, Mr. Khan?" she murmured.

"Yes," he immediately replied, although he doubted that he'd request the boy to remove the mask for some time. "Of course, Maddy. I will come back. Tomorrow, even." Nadir turned back to Erik and forced himself to look upon that face again. "Thank you, Erik," he softly stated.

"I know it is wrong," the boy whispered, taking another step back. "I am not right. But no one has to see! I can make it disappear again! Mother made me show you."

Madeleine frowned. "You may leave now, Erik. And replace your mask." The boy took another step backwards, before quickly doing as he was told, the mask gripped tightly in his right hand.

"Is that why you keep him in all the time?" enquired Nadir after Erik had vanished. "So no one will see him?"

Madeleine glanced up. "That is merely a blessing of the circumstances," she replied, wringing her hands together. "As I said, Erik cannot be in the sunlight. A doctor came to my house many years ago when he was an infant. I'd phoned him to see if anything could be done about….well…Anyhow, I later received a letter from him that told me of some medical condition. Erik will die if he goes into the daylight."

Nadir furrowed his eyebrows and nodded. "Yes. I believe I've heard of such conditions, although they are rare. But…have you ever tried before? Just…stuck his hand into the sun for a moment to see if it was true?"

Madeleine sadly laughed. "Although there are many times I have…." She swallowed. "…I have wanted to be free of him, I would not murder my own child. I would burn in hell for such an act. No. Erik has never been in the sunlight. And I prefer to keep it that way. It is better for his sake."

"What do you mean?" he softly asked.

She turned away from him. "What could he possibly have if he did go into the sunlight?" she murmured. "He can never be around….normal people without stares. No one would hire him with that face or with the mask. No school would allow him in. The police would demand that he take it off in public. And then what? People will scream. No woman would ever….." Tears welled up in Maddy's eyes. "It is better that he cannot ever go out. It is a blessing."

Nadir sighed but didn't protest. Maybe Madeleine had been right. The world would not accept her son. She could not even accept her son.

The next years would bring about many changes. Nadir again blamed himself for Erik's current disposition. The violence that followed, the death, the fear….Mr. Khan had inadvertently contributed to all of it. His intentions had been good but…._What was that saying about hell and good intentions? _

_And if I never would have taken him to India, he never would have learned to use that confounded weapon! He never would have been blamed for….._

Feeling his anger at himself grow, Nadir forced himself to calm down and accept the fact that nothing could be done. Those were thoughts for another day.

* * *

After realizing how quickly the end of the year was approaching, Christine began crossing the days off on a pocket calendar. As she walked to her dormitory that evening, she stared down at the row of black X's with a frown, before tucking the daily planner into her backpack. Three days remained until her last recital, and only five days were left before she headed home for Thanksgiving. Very little time remained to figure everything out and to ensure that no fatal decisions were made. An idea was slowly forming in the back of her mind, a solution to at least part of the problem. Still, there was no guarantee that it would work, especially when so much of it was out of her hands. 

She prayed that he would keep his word and come to her again. Her eyes had become almost accustomed to scanning the shadows every night for two yellow stars. Seeing nothing, Christine sighed and began to head toward the glass double doors. The game of hide-and-seek was becoming frustrating. So much was at stake, and she was afraid that he would disappear forever. What had she ever done to make him so distrustful of her?

_It's what he did to you. _The realization came upon her slowly. Erik thought that she hated him because, on some level, she had every right to fear and despise him. He had threatened her life, kept her captive for a month, and nearly killed her fiancé.

_But he didn't kill Raoul. And I don't hate him. I can't. _Even if she didn't know where all of this would lead, her main goal at the moment was ensuring that Erik survived these next few months. She felt a strong desire to preserve his life, to not let that magnificent voice disappear from this world. A strange sort of calmness came over her with these thoughts, and a small smile crossed her lips as her eyes gazed over the dying brown grass. Her plans of earlier returned to her. "If you would just stay…." she murmured to herself.

Just as she started to ascend the concrete steps, a shadow entered the left corner of her vision. Christine quickly whirled around to face it, her heart jumping once in fear, before resuming a quicker rhythm. Then, a vague feeling of relief overtook her. "Erik," she softly stated as her gaze met with the familiar yellow eyes. "You did come." It was fairly dark, and she could just barely make out his looming form.

He nodded once. "As you requested, Christine. I did."

She nodded and took a tentative step toward him, silently begging her hands to stop trembling. "Yes. I did…." Christine quickly glanced over their surroundings to ensure that no one else was around. The colder breeze continued to seep through her clothing, and she shivered.

"If you wish, there is an empty building that remains unlocked. It will be warmer." He paused and turned away from her, folding his hands behind his back. "Or perhaps you would rather be around others and in safer company. In that case, we can remain outside."

"No. It's cold," she softly replied. "We can…go inside, if that's okay."

He turned back to look at her for a moment. "Of course. We will, then." Erik gestured toward the left and began walking in the indicated direction at a medium pace. She paused for a second, before quickly following behind him, always just able to make out his silhouette a few feet ahead of her. When they came upon one of the older brick buildings, he suddenly darted right and stood next to a side door. "Here! It is unlocked." Slightly out of breath, Christine nodded and murmured a thank you as he opened the door for her. She breathed a sigh of relief to be out of the cold, before following him down a desolate corridor.

The hallway was dark and silent, and only her footsteps made any noise against the linoleum tiles. She walked faster to keep up with him, slightly unsettled by the emptiness in a place that was usually crawling with activity. Suddenly, her instructor disappeared, and she paused in her steps and frantically gazed around in the darkness. "Erik!"

"Here, Christine," his fluid voice sounded out from somewhere unknown. She blinked as a light flashed on in one of the nearby rooms and quickly followed the yellow glow. The room was the size of a smaller auditorium, likely used for lectures. Erik stood at the very front with his hands again folded behind his back, looking toward her expectantly as she entered. "We will be able to evaluate the strength of your voice," he energetically stated, widely gesturing to the spacious area and higher ceiling. "Such a task was not possible in the previous room."

Although she nodded at the words, her concentration was now focused upon Erik. It was the first time that she had a clear view of him since June. An inaudible gasp escaped her lips as she looked over him under the fluorescent lighting. His tall, dark figure was always somewhat frightening, but now it appeared battered as well. His suit was not as immaculately pressed, lined with wrinkles and creases in both the jacket and pants. If it was even physically possible, he seemed even thinner than before. There was even something different about his posture and poise, something almost disheartening. "Do you see something of interest?" he suddenly snapped, as her eyes gazed over him.

She quickly glanced away in shame. "No. I…I'm sorry." Christine paused and took a deep breath, a little disturbed by the silence. It occurred to her that she had put her full trust in the notion that he would not harm her. No one would be able to hear her if she screamed. "Erik?" she timidly began. "Where are you staying? I mean…during the day?"

"Wherever I am able," he replied with an edge in his voice. "It is of no importance."

"But where do you sleep? How do you eat?"

He laughed wryly. "Oh, Ms. Daae. Why do you concern yourself with such trivial matters? What meaning do they have to you? I find sleep unpleasant, and I am rarely in need of food. The only thing I am in need of is my music, and you…." Erik paused and glanced into the empty rows of seats. "….your voice sustains me through the daytime hours." She started to reply, but he quickly continued. "You asked me here to assist you in singing, no? Let us begin. We have little time left."

"All right." That hadn't been her motive for meeting with him, but perhaps music was again the best place to begin. He often seemed less tense after their lessons. She began to sing scales for him, enjoying the way her voice sounded in the empty room. It had a hollow, haunting quality that it had never previously possessed. She then sang her entire aria straight through. Erik didn't even stop to make corrections, always keeping his gaze slightly to the right of her. The yellow eyes had a distant look to them, and his shoulders had relaxed slightly.

"You will do well, Christine," he murmured, as her voice faded into the silence. Her chest was heaving with deep breaths, and a slight euphoria raced through her from the music. "You will always do well…..You are in need of no more of me. They will listen to you, if you only keep your concentration….Christine. They will...love you."

"Thank you," she whispered, gazing at the ground for a moment. After finally catching her breath, she quickly gathered her courage to take this next move forward. He already sounded like he was about to leave again. Very slowly, she took several steps in his direction. "Erik," she began. He glanced up at her. "After the concert, I have to go away for a while. It's a holiday, and the dorms close. But I…."

"Then we will both go our separate ways," he softly interrupted. No surprise was evident in his tone. "And that will be that. It will be the ideal time for me to make my departure."

She swallowed. A heavy feeling encased her chest. "Where…where are you going?"

"I am returning to Europe," he replied. "I have unfinished business, as you can imagine."

"You're going to get Nadir out of prison?"

"Among other matters, that is my intention."

Christine hesitated, wishing he would offer her more information. "How are you going to do that?"

He softly chuckled. "Do you really wish me to answer that question, Ms. Daae? The matter is complex. Do not even think on it. You should not dwell on such unpleasant things."

That finality once again marred his tone. _Here she went. _"Erik….I…I was wondering if you would wait here until I got back. I'll only be gone for a week. And maybe I can find out something while I'm back home. Maybe Raoul knows people or…."

"Oh, I am sure he has many acquaintances, Christine," Erik interrupted with a sneer. "Likely acquaintances of his father and brother as well. I am sure they would all enjoy hearing of my whereabouts, especially if they believe me dead." The yellow eyes flickered with confusion and distrust. "All the more reason for me to leave as soon as possible."

"No, Erik! I won't tell _anyone_ you're here. I promise. But maybe I can find out where Nadir is. Raoul said something about having to…identify them or...I don't know. But I can try to find out something! I can try to contact Nadir."

"Why, Christine?" he wearily questioned. "Why would you try to do that? What are you doing? What are your intentions?"

"I'm trying to help" she pled. "I just…I want you to stay until I come back."

"_Why?_"

She quickly wiped the gathering moisture from her eyes. _Why?_ What was left now but the truth? "So you don't get hurt….." she choked out. _Or killed. _

Erik was quiet for several moments, his shoulders again tense and his arms down at his sides. "Christine…." he slowly began. "I have never worried of such things before, and I do not now. There is only one ending for everyone. And perhaps mine will arrive sooner. And it will be welcomed. I have been given all I came for." His eyes lingered on her for another moment. "Perhaps…perhaps more than I came for…."

"But you don't have to go yet!" she exclaimed, trying to keep her tears from falling. Embarrassed, she softened her voice. "There are other ways. Please let me try!"

"And you wish me to wait for you while you go feast and socialize and do whatever else people are supposed to do during this gluttonous time of year?" he angrily questioned. "You wish me to wait here while you enjoy the holiday with your damned boy? For what? Why, Christine?" He had lost some of his composure, was leaning forward and gesturing outwardly with his hands. She refrained from stepping backwards. "What motive do you have for attempting to prolong my existence? Pity? Is that it? I can assure that I am not in need of _that_."

"Erik," she whispered, looking away from him as tears now streamed freely down her cheeks. "I thought you were…." She choked. "After Raoul told me, I thought you were dead. I thought you were gone. That was why I couldn't sing that night. I didn't want to sing anymore. It was this terrible feeling. I don't want it again…I don't…..I don't want you to die."

She tapered off and cautiously looked up at him. Erik had now backed up several steps, as though _she_ were the potentially dangerous one…as though she would suddenly strike him. His eyes appeared brighter than they had been moments ago. He tilted his head back slightly, and Christine thought that she heard him whisper something to himself. "Erik," she softly began again.

He twitched at the sound of his name and stared down at her. "You could not sing…." he murmured. "You could not sing..."

"I'm sorry," she quickly replied, not quite understanding his strange reaction. _Had she upset him? _She brushed her tears away and tried to gather her composure, feeling as though she had gained some ground. "But…if you'll just stay until I get back. If you'll just let me try, maybe…maybe I can find out something. Please don't leave yet." She fell silent and held her breath as she waited for his response.

Erik took a step forward. He held out an open hand toward her, and she wondered if he expected her to take it. But no. It was just another odd gesture in her direction. He quickly withdrew his hand and looked away from her, his posture straightening again. Still, a strange glint remained in his eyes. "It is late," he softly stated. "It is late, and nothing more can be done tonight. I will see you after your performance, if you wish. You will do well."

She frowned at his lack of response but quickly nodded at the offer, wiping the remaining tears from her eyes. _At least he would meet with her again…._"All right. I'll come out afterwards."

"Yes. I will find you." He motioned forward. "Come. It is late, and you are prepared. I will return you to your dormitory." She nodded and wearily followed, noticing that he walked beside her this time instead of staying ahead. They silently made their way through the maze of corridors and into the cold night air, back across the crisp grass and toward the building that was still heavily dotted with small rectangles of light.

Christine kept her arms folded at her chest for warmth, trying to think of something else to say before they parted. He was almost acting as though the conversation had never taken place, as though she had not just poured her emotions out to him. Only his eyes and posture said any differently. Erik stopped several yards from the entrance, checking once for intruders before facing her again. "We are here," he softly stated with a nod, before turning around to leave. "Rest well, Christine."

"Erik?" Without thinking, she reached up and half-grabbed his arm above the elbow to catch his attention, almost as she had done to stop him from killing Raoul. He abruptly turned around, and she released her hold on the woolen jacket, afraid that she had angered him. He just stared down at her with an unreadable expression. "Will you…stay?"

He moved away from her. "It is…I do not know, Christine. I do not know. Rest. I will see you soon."

She wearily nodded and allowed him to disappear. The uncertainty in his voice was somehow encouraging, though. Taking a deep breath, she turned around and entered her dorm, blinking in the bright lighting. As other girls passed her wearing pajamas and bathrobes, gossiping about classes and boyfriends, it felt as though she had stepped back into her other world. She absentmindedly waved to some of them, before entering her room and sitting down on the bed. Jamie was on the phone, and they nodded at one another.

Thoughts swirled around in her mind, some hopeful and others troubling. Slowly, certain thoughts began to come together to form a coherent idea. And the ideas began to become a plan. Unable to sleep, Christine had gotten up around midnight and asked Jamie if she could use her computer.

Sitting down in the wooden chair, she logged onto the Internet and got into her e-mail. Gnawing at her lip, she began to compose a message.

_Hey Gavin! How are you? Busy like me, probably. _

She paused before continuing, praying that this would go well.

_I'm really sorry to bother you, especially with Marisol here, but I need to ask you a favor. _

_I need you to drive me somewhere. _


	26. Room 224

Hey guys! Glad you're enjoying the story, despite the slower development. I think you'll all enjoy this softer chapter ;) This is primarily a Mystery/Suspense and secondarily a Romance. I'll try to keep both genres in throughout the story.

I'd also like to thank _TouchingTrusting_ for one of her ideas in this chapter!

**Read and Review!**

After Gavin had parked and turned off the engine, Christine slowly stepped out of the green Toyota Camry and looked at her surroundings with satisfaction. The streets weren't quite as congested here as they were around the university, but there were still enough cars and pedestrians around so that no one stood out. The homes and businesses were older, but it wasn't quite what anyone would call the 'bad' side of the city. It was the kind of lower middle-class area where people were too caught up in the drone of their daily lives to notice anyone else. _Yes. This would work. _

Gavin climbed out on the other side and stretched, before walking up to stand beside her. "You have the key, right?" he asked with a yawn.

"Yeah," she replied with a cautious smile. The situation seemed so unnaturally normal. "The room's all registered and ready."

"Great." He opened one of the rear doors and removed several plastic sacks from the backseat. "Wow. These are heavy."

She nodded, her mouth slightly contorted with worry. The gnawing sensation continued to linger in the pit of her stomach. "Yeah. I wasn't…really sure what to get, so I bought whatever looked good." They started to quickly walk forward toward the smaller building. The afternoon sky was clear, but a colder November breeze still swept through the air. "So…" she began, attempting to make conversation and ease her nerves. "Marisol was okay with everything? I felt bad about asking you to leave while she was here."

"Yeah!" He cleared his throat. "Well, she was a little curious about you…with the whole thing last spring. When it first came on that you were missing, we were watching television in my living room. I jumped up off the couch, pointed at the screen, and said 'Holy crap! I know that girl!' So…yeah. She was a little curious when I said you were back at the university."

"I…see." Christine awkwardly shifted but managed a light laugh. "Well, at least she's not upset."

Gavin laughed as well. "No! Not at all. She knows she's my one and only."

Christine smiled, before quietly staring down at the pavement as she walked forward. Some people made relationships seem so uncomplicated. Gavin was getting married in less than two months, and he had few reservations. He loved his fiancee, and that was all there was to it. But here _she_ was, lying to her fiancé to save another man's life. _Oh God…what if Raoul finds out? What if Erik doesn't stay, even after all of this?_

_No. I can't think about that now._ Christine put her focus back on the task at hand and forced the worrisome thoughts away. She was actually doing something of use now. A warmth filled her heart as she and Gavin began to climb the metal steps that led to the second floor. She was taking action instead of uselessly waiting for something to happen. That thought calmed her somewhat.

"What room?" asked Gavin, as they reached the top.

"Um…" She looked down at the silver key. "Two twenty-four."

"Right here, then." He gestured to a nearby door with his full hands and stepped aside for her to open it.

Placing the key into the lock, Christine turned it and opened the pale blue door with a soft click. A warmer wave of air touched her cheeks from the heated inside, along with the smells of cedar furniture, cleaning chemicals, and air freshener. She looked around the room carefully, her eyes trailing over the single bed, desk, chest of dresser drawers, television, and sink. Her reflection stared back at her from the oversized bathroom mirror. She slowly nodded her head in approval. "Yes," she murmured. "This will work. It's not perfect, but it has to be better than…." Her voice tapered off.

Gavin stepped in behind her and glanced around. "Yeah," he stated with uncertainty. "You can't expect much more from a three-star motel."

She turned and shut the door to keep the colder air out of the room. "I wanted someplace that was kind of hidden….where no one really paid attention to anything. The nicer hotels have staffs that are always checking on you, and they're always trying to clean your room. This was the best that I found when I checked an online directory. Financially, too."

Her friend nodded. "Yeah. That had to be kind of expensive. You rented it for over a week, right? Jeez…that would break my bank account."

"Well, with all my scholarships this year, I had some money leftover to spend. Anyway, it doesn't really matter. I had to do it." She turned away from him and began to look around, carefully inspecting the room for any problems that might arise. There were no security cameras, as far as she could see. Still, she examined every corner carefully.

Gavin went over to the desk and placed the three plastic sacks on top of it. Curiously, he began to peruse through them. "Lots of good stuff in here," he commented with a grin, turning over the items.

"Like I said, I didn't know what to get," she replied with a sigh. "I had no idea. I was just….buying a bunch of things that wouldn't spoil."

"Well…" Gavin pulled out a yellow box. "You can't go wrong with _Cheerios_." He looked down again. "And _Oreos_. What else? Oranges, grapes, some crackers, a jar of….something purple, bread, tuna, a _Hershey's_ bar….Good stuff."

"It's terrible," she miserably stated, rubbing a hand over her forehead. "It'll probably all be here when I get back. But I just didn't know what else to get. I mean…you can't really cook anything in here, right?"

"Hey…calm down," he soothed, obviously noticing the tension. "It's fine. It's what anyone else would eat."

Christine sighed and took a seat on the grey and blue striped bedspread, leaning back onto her hands. "I just hope it works," she murmured, staring at the blue carpet. "I hope all of this isn't for nothing."

Gavin hesitated. She knew that he was feeling strangely about this, as she had only given him the most necessary details. She'd said that she wanted to rent a room for a friend and also needed a ride to a nearby grocery store. "So…" he finally began. "You still don't know if this...person is sticking around? I mean, you're doing all of this because you hope he stays?"

She nodded. "It would be too late to make arrangements if I waited any longer. Tests are coming up, and my performance is in two days. I had to do it now. And just…hope…."

"I see." He shook his head. "Well….I guess that's all you can do now."

"I…" Her eyes suddenly widened, and she hopped up from the bed. "Gavin! We forgot the back of your trunk. Is it unlocked?"

"Yeah. It's…" She raced out of the room before he could finish his sentence and descended down the metal steps. Rushing to Gavin's car, she opened the trunk and lifted a black, leather case out from the inside. Protectively holding the heavy object against her chest, she headed back upstairs.

Gavin glanced up as she entered. "Ah! The violin. Yeah. I guess it's a good thing we didn't forget that." He stood beside her as she opened the case. "Did you buy it?"

"No." She frowned. "I couldn't really afford one...and…I didn't even know what kind to buy." Christine took the instrument out of its box and reverently held it. "It's on rental from the music department. I probably broke a few rules getting it…but….." She ran her fingers along the smooth strings and hourglass body. "I think it'll be nice."

"Yeah. It will be. If he likes to play."

"I hope it's tuned."

"He'll know how to do it, if it's not."

She nodded and laid the violin back into its velvet-lined case. After closing the box and locking the latches, she placed the instrument beside the bags of food. "All right," she murmured to herself. "Everything is here. The room is rented for nine days. It's behind the building so no one will notice it. No one is supposed to come in to clean. The credit card is under my name…."

"And if there are any problems, the motel is supposed to call my cell phone," Gavin finished.

Christine smiled. "Yeah. Thanks for allowing that, by the way. If anything happens, I'll get it cleared up when I come back. Even…even if I have to come back early." She paused, gazing down toward the floor. "And…remember not to say anything to anyone about this. I don't want anyone else to know where we were today."

He slowly nodded. "Yeah. I won't. It makes me feel a little uneasy…when you say that, though. Is this guy…like…wanted for something?"

Christine kept her gaze away from him. "I don't know," she lied. "But no one will find out. No one cares. There will be no problems as long as…as you don't say anything." Her heart pounded slightly. She had put far more trust into him than she had ever wanted. Her options had been limited, though, especially since she barely knew her away around the city.

Gavin nodded again. "All right. I'll forget it ever happened. Or…try to, at least."

"Thanks." She smiled in relief and looked around one last time. "I hope it works," she again stated, wringing her hands together. "I hope he comes. He'll be safe here. He has to be."

She began to walk in the direction of the door with Gavin following behind her. Everything was out of her hands for the time being. She would see him after her performance, and then she would be able to make her final plea. _Please stay…_

* * *

She was perfect that evening. He knew that she would be. From an obscure shadowed corner, he listened to her, closing his eyes as her divine voice rang into the room. He tightly clenched his fist in victory as she cleanly hit a crescendo. Her focus had returned. She was all that he had imagined she would be once her talent was kindled and embraced. 

To his ire, the audience was much smaller this time. The entire city should have heard her that evening. _The entire unworthy world should hear her and fall to its knees…_He savored the final moments as the aria reached its grand ending, listening with delight as she added the embellishments that he had taught her.

She would search for him afterward. For that reason alone, he could bear the ending of the music. Had this been the last time he would ever lay eyes upon her, he would have wished the song to last for an eternity. _But no. She was coming to him now._ She was already quickly taking her bows. A loud round of applause sounded out into the air, and the fifty or so other souls present were standing for her. They would not forget this performance; he had seen to that. Christine smiled and took another bow, before urgently picking up her gown and rushing off the stage.

She glowed. There was life in her, especially when compared with the last performance. _Was it really for the reason of…? _He closed his eyes, knowing such thoughts were damaging to his mental state. Her last words had remained with him, had toyed with his mind until he was forced to wonder if they had been imagined in another lapse of sanity. But no. She had truly admitted to mourning over him. She had cared whether he lived or died. She did. After he had escaped her enquiring eyes, though, he forced himself to draw plausible conclusions.

Perhaps she believed that he had literally bestowed her with her voice. Did she believe him to possess such power that he could give and take a voice? Or perhaps someone as young as she did not like any thought of death. Perhaps she would have pled for anyone's life, the wonderful girl that she was. No. It had nothing to do with him. Still, though, he could revel in the fact that someone had mourned once over him, someone who he….

_He would find her now!_ It would be his last night to do so. He could not stay here a week longer, despite her strange request. He could not stay here and wait for nothing. That was what it was. _Nothing._ Every moment that he remained, the more difficult it became to leave. And what would happen? Even if he stayed her entire academic career, was witness to every one of her performances, she would ultimately leave in the end. She would marry de Chagny, and there would be no resolve left in him. _No. No._ He had to get away while there was still enough energy and rage to murder Oliver and to find his imprisoned comrade. He would see her one last time and savor her presence before he made his final departure. _Yes. He could have that._

He watched her walk outside, a winter's coat now covering her short-sleeved dress. She was looking around in the approaching darkness and softly calling his name, a grimace of worry contorting her lips._ She thought him to already be gone. Not yet, Christine. _"I am here," he stated, making himself visible to her. She immediately glanced up at him and faintly smiled. _Christine. Do not look at me so. _

"Erik." She slowly walked over toward him, her hair flying out behind her in the cold wind. "How did I do?" she softly asked. "I…I felt good up there. I felt like I could sing again."

"Flawlessly," he replied, always keeping his gaze just to the side of her. "It is only a pity that more people were not there to hear such perfection."

Another smile graced her face, a smile for him. "Thank you." Her gaze drifted toward the ground, and he could see that she was shivering. The temperature was below freezing. He had even worn felt gloves that day to keep his thin skin from succumbing to frostbite, although he was not sensitive to the cold itself. She was, though. She needed to be inside.

He paused. "My funds have been solely devoted to transportation. A car and driver are situated out front for the evening. It will be warmer. We may talk there, unless you do not wish to."

She looked a little startled but nodded. "All right." _You are too trustworthy, my Christine. Someone should stay by your side and protect you from the evils of the world…From things like me…._

He nodded and walked forward toward the road, hearing her soft footsteps closely behind him as they crunched over the dead leaves. He slowed his pace and allowed her to catch up with him. Perhaps he should not hurry, allow the moments to linger and sustain him for the remaining time left in his life. _If it were summer, he would take a walk with her. The evenings would be warmer, and no one would see them if they took a walk after dark. She would like that….._

He violently snapped himself out of the train of thought, flinching sharply enough to make Christine glance up with surprise. "Merely a chill," he stoically stated as they arrived at the grey car. The vehicle was too short to be a limousine but too long to be a passenger car. It had been his only luxury while there, and the only way he could travel to see her as frequently and quickly as possible. The driver, who had only seen _him _with a scarf over his face, had been instructed to idly sit there that day.

She hesitated as he held the door open for her. Anger and panic swelled within him. _She had remembered what he was now, what he was capable of. _Tucking her hair behind her ear, Christine then slowly climbed into the vehicle. His shoulders relaxed as he shut the door. He would get his final moments with her.

He opened the door on the opposite side and sat across from her. A light automatically turned on in the backseat. She sat with her hands folded in her lap, watching him with what he could only guess to be curiosity. Not fear, though. _Better to be an oddity than an ogre, _he supposed.

There was silence for several moments, save for the hum of the heaters. He merely admired her, enjoying the quiet isolation that the car brought. No one would disturb them. She suddenly leaned forward slightly and began to speak, timidly at first, before growing more confident. "I was thinking…" she began, "Raoul has his father's old files in his house. He has these file cabinets that he never looks at. I could look in them. Maybe…."

"Christine," he gently interrupted, feeling a heavy sensation in his chest at hearing her eager words. "Let us not talk of such things this evening." She drew back, her cheeks flushing slightly. "Let us talk of your voice…your future…."

"Oh…" she softly replied, entwining her fingers together. "I have more concerts in the spring."

"Very good. You will continue to do well, now that you have found your focus. Remember to sing for yourself alone. The audience is meaningless. Simply concentrate on your voice, and you will achieve perfection."

Her eyes narrowed in distress, as though she heard something in his tone that she disliked. She turned away from him and glanced out the window, and the unpleasant ache in his chest became worse. _She knew._ "I can't sing for just myself," she murmured. "It doesn't work."

"Christine…." He sighed her name. "I returned your voice to you…tuned and molded it, but your singing has little to do with me now. Despite what you believe, I am no Svengali. You will sing whether I remain here or not. And you will sing well, Christine. You will."

She looked back at him, and he could see her eyes glisten in the dim lighting. _Do not look at me!_ "It's not just my voice. I just…I don't want you to get killed. Not because I can't sing. Just because…." She glanced away again. "Just because it hurts me. Why won't you stay?"

He was breaking inside. How could she say such kind things to _him_? How dare she make such requests! He found some of his long-collected bitterness and used it in a final defense against her. "I would have imagined you pacified to have all traces of me gone from your life. Wouldn't it be grand to no longer have to worry about Erik watching you….thinking of you? Wouldn't you be free?"

"No!" she exclaimed with surprising force. "No. I wouldn't be." She buried her face into her hands, her hair hanging over her shoulders as she leaned forward. "You don't know what it was like when I thought you were….." A sob emerged from her throat. "Please stay…"

"Christine..." It was getting difficult for him to breathe. Strange…his lungs had been fine lately...Perhaps the air in the car was stale. "There is little reason for me to remain here." He was making her cry now. No one had ever done so in his presence, save for tears of fear. He had no idea what to do as she began to softly weep into her hands. His mind was blank, and he was frozen in the seat. He wished her to stop, wished her not to be in pain. He suppressed a cough, feeling his lungs grow even heavier.

"Christine…." She looked up at him with her cheeks flushed and tear-streaked. He had no words for her; there was nothing. He had never offered solace to anyone; he had never wanted to. What reason did he have to improve anyone's mood? Until now. But there was nothing now. Nothing to make her stop crying…except…"I will wait for you to return." The weight eased off his lungs with the words.

She blinked several times and slowly lifted her head. He remained unmoving beneath her gaze. "You…you will?" she softly asked, a note of disbelief in her little voice. "Really? You'll stay here? Really?"

"If it pleases you so," he replied, shaken by the hope in her voice. _No one had ever…._ "I will wait. I will wait for you."

She wiped her eyes and face with the palms of her hands, attempting a smile through her remaining tears. "Thank you," she whispered with a shaky breath. His left gloved hand lay on the armrest, his fingers slightly curled with tension. She leaned forward and took it into both of her bare hands in a sort of cradling motion, a sign of gratitude. He froze at the slight pressure against his skin, feeling her fingers brush against his covered palm. "Thank you. I'll be back soon. I promise, Erik."

He wasn't able to speak until she released his hand and drew back into her seat. The sensation lingered on his skin. "You may find nothing," he quickly stated, once he had gathered his composure. His mind was spinning, spinning. It was getting difficult for him to think clearly. "There will likely be nothing of value at your boy's house. It is not your obligation to find anything, though. I do not expect it."

She nodded. "I know. Maybe…maybe I won't. I'll just look. We'll figure out what to do after I get back. We'll just see when I get back."

"_We_…Christine…." He looked away from her. _Why, Christine? _He silently willed his heart to be still, willed his reason to return.

"Erik?" Her voice was timid again.

"Yes?"

"What…what happened?" Her voice shook. "I mean…all those years ago? Why did all of this happen? Please tell me. Maybe...maybe it will help me."

Every muscle in his emaciated body tensed. Had it been anyone else, he might have killed them for the question. For her…Only for her, though, he kept his composure. "That is not a story for you. Nor will it ever be."

"All right," she whispered, likely hearing the warning in his tone. He calmed as they again sat there in the silence. The quiet was better, was merciful and unquestioning. Christine looked out the window for a while. _She was so lovely. _A yawn emerged from her lips, and she quickly covered her mouth.

"You are tired," he stated. "And it is late now."

"Yes. I have an exam tomorrow morning. I guess I should…." Her voice tapered off, and he could hear worry and reluctance in her tone. _She still didn't trust him to stay….Should she?_

"Of course. We will return to your dormitory." He calmly instructed the driver to go forward, outwardly maintaining his composure as his eyes darted between her and the outside. His fingers curled and uncurled, as though they desired to clutch onto something that was just out of grasp. She turned toward him as the car came to a stop in front of the brightly lit building. Her eyes prodded and questioned him, tinged with a medley of fear and hope.

"Goodnight, Erik." She swallowed. "I'll see you in about a week." Christine paused before getting out, awaiting additional words of reassurance.

"Of course. A week. I will see you, then. Rest well, Christine." She uncertainly nodded and climbed out, closing the door behind her. As she headed toward the door of her dorm, she looked back several times. A cold sensation flooded his veins. _Why must she leave now?_ His fists clenched, and his shoulders tensed. _If she cared, why must she go home to de Chagny? She should stay now. _She had cried for him, and now she was gone!

But she would be back.

Would he be here, or had his words been nothing but gentle lies? He sat there in the silence, futilely attempting to concentrate. Even if he was ultimately waiting for nothing, he could momentarily wait for something _Yes…that was reason to live, more reason than he'd ever had….Waiting…waiting….Perhaps…perhaps when she came back, they would go for a ride around the city. She might enjoy that. She might…_

_But then what? _She would always keep leaving…until the day came when she never returned.

He was broken from his cruel thoughts when the driver's voice spoke through the speakers. He cast a glare toward the front. "Anywhere you want to go, sir?" a deep voice asked. "Our time is about up, but I'll take you to your final destination."

He cringed in disgust as bleak reality returned. He would be waiting for nothing, indeed... waiting in some frigid warehouse for one week. He started to tell the driver to take him to the older section of the city. If he was fortunate, the industrial area would be empty over the holidays.

It was at that moment that his eyes gazed downward and spotted something white propped up against the opposite seat. An envelope. He quickly reached over and snatched it up into his hand. On the front, in fluid cursive, was his name. Or…close to his name. The angel had spelled it with a "c." Irked at being caught off guard, he quickly tore it open. _How had he not noticed it?_ A folded letter fell out and into his hand. He started to open it but realized that another object was also inside the envelope, something small and heavier.

He tensely shook the contents from the inside, observing as a silver key fell into his open palm.

As he finally began to read the letter, his bony hand quickly closed over the shining object.


	27. The Lovers

Wow, guys. Thanks for all the awesome reviews. I'm glad you enjoyed that bit of softness. This chapter may have you gritting your teeth a little. The following couple of chapters will begin to set things on a straight path, though. Also, there was a small edit done in the previous chapter. Instead of for one week, Christine rented the room for nine days. Hope you enjoy!

**Read and Review!!!**

He motionlessly stood on an empty street corner as the grey car sped off in the opposite direction. The driver had likely become disturbed by his eerie passenger. The elderly man had not even paused to check if the payment was correct, rolling up the window and carelessly turning around in the middle of the road. _He_ could only hope he had made the safer choice in not disposing of him.

After another moment, he began to walk down the vacant sidewalk, always ensuring that he knew the exact position of the lasso. His eyes darted left and right in search of possible intruders, and the adrenaline flowed through his veins in preparation for whatever was to come. It was one of the few times in years that he did not know what to expect.

If this was the final move in a long game of deception, then she had nearly won. He was heading to the exact place described in the letter, like dimwitted prey lured into an obvious trap. Yet, he would never rest until he discovered if her intentions could truly be this kind, if she was truly this concerned for his wellbeing. Either way, it put him on edge. Even an innocent passerby might have met an early end if they got near him at that moment.

After turning several corners, he saw the half-lit building and recognized the name of the facility from the letter. Her words replayed themselves within his photographic memory. It had seemed so unbelievably innocent, the intentions too benevolent to be real. But if it was real…..

_I knew that you wouldn't accept this from me if I gave it to you. I just wanted you to know that there's an empty room at the Setting Sun Motel. Starting tomorrow evening, it's rented for nine days. There are directions at the bottom of the letter, but it's not too far from campus. No one is ever supposed to come in, and I don't think they get many guests. It's very quiet and clean. There's also some food inside, just simple things if you ever get hungry. Please stay there while I'm gone. I promise I'll be back as soon as I can. _

_I hope you decide to stay. It would mean a lot to me if you did, more than you might understand. _

_Christine_

Several voices sounded out from the nearby parking lot, and he flinched and darted into the shadows of some bare landscaped trees. His hand clamped over the weapon as two adolescents walked by laughing. They finally entered one of the rooms and slammed the door, oblivious to his presence. All was silent after that, and he continued forward. By that point, he would have almost accepted his demise if she had gone to this length to deceive him in to coming. It would have been too much to bear, if all her kind words and smiles had been nothing but lies, if she was no different than anyone else.

He remembered gnarled fingers and calloused hands grabbing his arms and legs, binding his limbs and throwing him to the frigid cement. There was a sharp kick in the stomach, a boot against his cheek and the bitter taste of blood from where a back tooth had come loose. A finger snapped as it was stepped upon. The digit still ached whenever he played the violin for too long.

_Would you lead me back into the hands of that, Christine? Would you stand and watch if they did so? Do you wait somewhere for news of my capture? I fear they will be forced to kill me before that ever occurs again, Christine. Please, Christine. Please tell me it is not….._

His fingers again wrapped around the lasso, simultaneously feeling the precious hairclip that lay beside it. She wouldn't, would she? Still seeing and hearing nothing that suggested he was being watched, he silently began to ascend the set of metal stairs. Images of her lovely face competed with memories of the cold and grimy floors of prison cells. He could turn back from this possible suicide, and, yet, he was hers now. He had to know what waited behind the door.

Reaching the top and finding the room, he forcefully put the silver key into the lock and violently twisted the doorknob, all the while preparing to be attacked. A gust of warm air met him as he opened the door. Even in the darkness he could see that the space before him was empty. His sharpened senses told him that he was indeed alone, and he quickly closed the door behind him and dead bolted the lock. Turning on a lamp, he stood and stared for a long moment, his shoulders relaxing little by little.

There was something entirely surreal about the room, the neatly made bed and the polished furniture, the sparkling sink and the vacuumed carpet. The disgustingly oversized mirror told him of what he was already aware; his hideous figure was out of place within this warmth, color, and comfort. Still, it was somehow his. She had done all of this. A feeling of self-loathing first came over him, in response to fact that she had found him pitiable enough to give charity. Then, there was a sense of peace brought on by the quiet and solitude, along with the knowledge that she was not like everyone else and that she had cared.

He gazed downward toward the plastic bags that lay atop a table. His gloved hands dug through the packaged products, and he was vaguely able to recall some of the American brands. Any form of nourishment would do, though. Considering that a lack of nose severely inhibited his ability to taste, he was not picky on the matter.

It was only when he saw the leather case that the reality of the situation truly became clear. He snatched it up into his hands and lay it atop the table, knowing before he opened the latch what he would find inside. Taking the instrument into his hands, he eagerly inspected it, examining the quality of the body and strings. It did not have the expert carving of his original, but it was still well-designed. He clutched onto the instrument for a moment, before picking up the bow and admiring the ribbon of white horsehair.

He yearned to tune and play it, was starving to hear his music for the first time in a month. He even reverently lifted it to his chin for a brief moment, before reluctantly lowering the instrument. The last problem he needed was an irate guest complaining of the noise. It would be better to wait until he could find complete solitude before he played. He realized that he had subconsciously made the choice to remain there; this room was now his domain for nine days. She would be returning, and he would see her again. Nothing would stop him from seeing her again.

Placing the violin back into its case and closing the lid, he finally forced himself to take a seat in the armchair. It was the most physical comfort that he'd experienced since England. He untied the two transparent strings and removed his mask for the first time in a while, grateful to free his burning skin from the porcelain confines. Sores had formed by now from the constant rubbing of the hard material against his flesh, not that any lesion was capable of making him look worse than he already did.

He leaned his head into his hand for a moment, attempting to find clarity. An ache consumed his body, a need to see her again, to be in her presence, to hear her voice. She was so good, so kind. He despised anyone who had her, who was permitted to touch her and be with her. Had de Chagny been anywhere near him at that moment…

Ironically, de Chagny only lived because of her.

_She would be back, though! She would be back! _His fists unclenched with the thought, and he leaned back into the chair, feeling the cool and velvety material against his half-bald head. The air that continued to brush against his sore flesh continuously reminded him of his hideousness, of the horror of which Christine was still unaware. Even knowing this truth, though, he could no longer deny it.

He loved her more than anything.

And it was like a sickness.

* * *

Frederick Oliver had gotten into the habit of keeping a handgun by his side at almost every hour of the day, particularly when he was sleeping. He was always on edge, waiting for the day when the masked demon showed up to seal his doom. In some ways, he almost wanted to get the confrontation over with, to put a bullet into that hideous skull. He was eager to finally come face to face with the creature. 

The eagerness immediately faded when a knock sounded at the front door of his coastal apartment. Startled from his light doze, he jumped up from his armchair and grabbed the gun. _You idiot! The monster wouldn't bother to knock. It's probably your maid or the landlord. _Still, he kept the gun close by and took a breath. "Who is it?" he gruffly enquired.

"Why don't you let me in and find out?" replied a female's voice that was marked by a moderate German accent.

His mouth fell agape. Smoothing his thinning hair back against his skull, Frederick raced to the door and opened it a crack. "Good afternoon, Frederick," stated an older woman with a knowing smile. She was dressed in a pressed navy pantsuit, and tinges of grey were spread throughout her chin length, dyed-blonde hair. She adjusted a leather purse on her shoulder, the crow's feet around her green eyes lengthening as she waited for him to recognize her.

"Leonie!" he exclaimed, stepping back and allowing her to enter the spacious living area. He quickly slammed the door behind her and locked it. "My God! It's been ages. I thought you had hid yourself away forever in some artist's community. I'd given up looking for you."

She laughed. "Not quite forever," she stated. "But let us not talk about my dull life." She made herself comfortable in his armchair and laid her purse onto the table, momentarily studying the gun with a bemused expression. "How are you, my friend?"

He cleared his throat and scooped the weapon up from the table, before sticking it into the pocket of his jacket. "All things considered, I'm well," he said with a humorless chuckle. "Hiding, it seems. Although you seemed to have no trouble finding me."

"I could always find you," she replied. He remembered when she had been beautiful, the many nights they had celebrated together after every lucrative business deal. "Don't I get a kiss? Or are you still only partial to twenty-year-olds? Not that I blame you."

"Heh." Frederick shifted uncomfortably, before leaning over to give her a quick kiss on the cheek. He ignored the look of annoyance on her face at his lack of passion. "What exactly brings you here, my dear? You were fairly well hidden, wherever you were."

She folded her slender hands together. "Well…after that business with the de Chagnys, I became a little worried. I had recently heard that the madman was killed, but I had my doubts, especially since you stayed in hiding."

He nodded. "You are no idiot, Leonie. He is quite alive, although let's keep that between you and me. But still…what brings you here?"

"You were obviously next on the list, and I certainly didn't want you to die." She paused. "That would mean that I was next. If he could find you, then he could certainly find me."

Frederick scratched his head. "Maybe not. Maybe he doesn't like to kill women."

Leonie laughed. "No. I'm afraid he grants no special privileges to the…gentler sex. He murdered a female security guard at the prison. I do not think he would have a moral conflict with stringing me up like a Christmas tree ornament." She shook her head and pushed her hair from her face. "We really should have killed him from the beginning, Frederick. I always thought we should have."

He cleared his throat. "Well, I did try at the beginning. If you'll remember, we ended up taking his mother out instead. By the second opportunity, the whole thing had become too damn high profile. If anything ever got out, we would have been responsible for murder. As long as he was rotting away in prison, he was the bad guy instead of us."

She frowned. "We could have made it look like an accident, just stopped feeding him. It wouldn't have been difficult."

Oliver shrugged. "I suppose I forgot about him, figured he would die after a decade in there. Any normal person would have."

"You forgot? No. You were either drunk or with some new woman every night." She sighed in irritation. "Men are incompetent. I should have been running the company."

"Well," he growled. "You didn't do much to help, always off at one end of the world or another looking for some new piece to add to your collection of grotesque art. And I was up against Louis de Chagny! He was always whining about everything we did. If I killed that freak, I knew de Chagny would end up blurting it out somewhere. Why didn't you deal with him, eh?"

She sighed again. "Let us forget the past. Arguing over it does little good. Louis is dead now, as is his oldest son. We don't have to worry about their interference anymore."

Frederick laughed and relaxed back against the couch. "Speaking of the de Chagnys, I've been talking with the younger boy for the past few weeks. He's a bit of fun. Nice lad. I just tell him what to believe. And his fiancée is…." Frederick grinned in appreciation.

"You will never change, will you?" Leonie laughed before taking on a thoughtful expression. "You know, it is curious as to how Raoul and the girl escaped with barely a scratch. I nearly choked when I discovered that. I figured the bodies would be found decomposing somewhere."

Oliver nodded. "That has always puzzled me, too. I asked the boy a couple of times, but he never says much about it."

"Hmm. I wonder," began Leonie with a smirk.

"Wonder what?"

"Do you think the girl did-shall we say- _favors_ for our monster? In exchange for her life, I mean?" She watched with pure amusement as Oliver's expression changed from one of confusion to one of utter disgust.

"Jesus, Leonie!" he exclaimed, wrinkling his nose and putting a hand over his mouth. "Your perverse mind is clearly still intact! The things you come up with!"

"Well…" She leaned forward. "It would make sense. The girl was a cute little thing. Not gorgeous, but cute. And a man is only a man. It makes as much sense as anything else, no?"

"I don't think so," replied Oliver with disdain. "I think she would have rather died….than….than…."

"Possibly," replied Leonie with a shrug. "Just speculating."

"Well, don't! You're going to make me lose my lunch." He paused and gazed at her mischievously, remembering that old spark between them. "Would you have done it to save your own life, sweetheart?"

Leonie scoffed and laughed. "You're just as perverse as I am, _mein schatz_." She sighed nostalgically. "The good times we had. All that lovely money and nothing to worry about. An entrepreneur and an heiress." She wrinkled her nose. "And then this happened!"

"I know. I have not slept well in months. Is it really too much to ask, living out my retirement in peace and quiet? "

She leaned over to lay a wrinkled hand on his shoulder. "Do not worry, Freddie. We were always the brains behind everything, anyway. We'll get this all figured out."

"I damn well hope so. I am tired of this waiting. I wish he would come in here now, so that I could just shoot his ugly face and be done with it."

She got up and came over to sit beside him, leaning over and pressing her lips to his cheek. "We will think of something. We always do. That's why we're the only two left alive, right?"

He raised an eyebrow. "I thought we were the only two left alive because we're the last two names on the list?"

She smiled. "We'll call that a coincidence."

* * *

As the plane finally came to a stop and the seatbelt sign turned off, Christine grabbed her carryon bag and followed the other passengers down the carpeted aisle. She'd slept most of the flight, and it took her a moment to steady herself. Turning to the right, she quickly glanced out the window. Just as it had been in Boston, the sky was cloudy, tiny raindrops pelting the glass. She deeply inhaled the stale air and prepared herself for whatever lay ahead. 

She continued to wonder whether Erik had accepted her offer, whether he was safe in that room or on his way back to England. His eyes had seemed troubled when she had last seen him, his voice more uncertain than she'd ever heard it. She hated never being able to see his expressions, never knowing what he was thinking. She'd almost felt like running back to the car and begging him to stay, clutching his bony hand and telling him just how much it would mean to her. Then again, it was still often difficult to talk to him, to avoid angering him.

_Concentrate, Christine! _She had to focus on the present and stop worrying. Climbing off the plane, she felt the cold Chicago air seep through the cracks as she began the short walk down the boarding passageway. She was going to see her fiancé for the first time in months. Her heart thudded with uncertainty. _Please let everything go well…_

She made her way through the swarms of holiday travelers and airport shops, vaguely aware of the smells of fast food, perfumes, and coffee. Babies screamed from several directions as flight cancellations were reported over the intercom. Christine held her head high and clutched her travel bag, attempting to gather her concentration. Making her way around the long lines at the security gates and down an escalator, she began to look around for a familiar face.

"Christine!" a male voice shouted out from behind her.

She whirled around and smiled as her fiancé made his way through the crowds of people. He hadn't really physically changed since she'd last seen him, although she was happy to see that he had gained back a healthy amount of weight since his captivity. "Raoul." Christine set down her carryon bag and embraced him. His arms were warm, and she was able to recall the solace they had brought to her on many occasions.

"You're looking well," he stated, giving her a quick kiss on the cheek and lips. "Your hair's gotten longer."

She laughed and took a blonde strand into her hand. "Yeah. I haven't had time to get it cut. You know how college life is."

"Yeah. I remember. It looks nice, though." He put an arm around her, and they began to walk toward the luggage collection area. "So how was the trip out? Any problems?"

"No. It was fine. Good weather and all."

"Great! Classes ended well?"

"Yeah. I think I did okay on the exams." She quickly got the conversation away from her own life. "How are things here? Any news?"

"Everything's good. Mostly busy with work." He stood with his arm around her as they waited for the luggage to come. "Oh. Meg called and wanted to come today. I told her you'd see her tomorrow. I…hope that's okay. I thought we could use some time together. And you were getting in kind of late."

"Oh!" She nodded. "Yes. That's fine. I'll see her later. I just talked to her a few days ago." Her eyes followed the conveyor belt. "There it is! The blue one." She reached over to grab the suitcase, but Raoul quickly picked it up. She smiled, feeling guilt gnaw at her insides. "Thanks. I hope it's not too heavy."

"Not a problem," he replied as they began to walk forward and toward the exits. She was grateful to get outside and escape all the noise, despite the colder temperature. It made it easier for her to think. Luckily, her fiancé had gotten a good parking space toward the front. After he had had loaded the suitcase and they had climbed into his new car, Raoul turned to her. "How would you like to go out for dinner?"

She nodded, considering that her meal had consisted of packaged pretzels. "Sure. Where do you want to go?"

He smiled. "Well…how about the Apollo Café?"

Her eyes widened. _The place where he had asked her to marry him…_Before he became disturbed by the lack of response, she quickly answered. "Yeah. That sounds good. Let's go!"

"Great."

If Christine discovered anything that afternoon and evening, it was that keeping her secret wasn't difficult. Raoul had no suspicions whatsoever. In fact, he seemed more at ease than before, and she wondered if it was because he thought that Erik was dead. They talked about her classes and his latest projects at work. Only when the topic drifted to her performances did she get a little nervous. Still, she managed to tell him that everything was fine.

"Fine?" he asked, looking up from his plate of spaghetti. "You're enjoying performing, though, right? I mean, that was the reason you left."

"Yeah! It's great. I love to sing. Why?"

He nodded. "That's good. You just sound a little upset whenever I ask you about it. Like on the phone that one time."

She shrugged and looked toward the checkered tablecloth. "It's great. I'm not upset."

"All right. I see."

Raoul was the same as she remembered him, although he still retained a slight edge from their captivity. He was even-tempered but more reserved in public, and she still got the feeling that he didn't like the idea of her going to school so many miles away. Then again, she'd changed as well. _Since when did you go around hiding wanted criminals in motel rooms? I wonder if Erik stayed…_She was going to wonder about that for the entire trip.

"So where to next?" Raoul hesitantly asked as they departed from the restaurant. The meal had been somewhat quiet toward the end.

"It's getting late," she replied, hugging her arms to her chest for warmth. "But I guess I'd like to make sure that my house is still in one piece. I know I should sell it soon. I just haven't found the time."

He nodded. "All right. We'll go there." She quietly looked out the car window as the sky darkened, beginning to become exhausted from both traveling and worrying. She felt colder, despite the fact that the heat was turned on the highest setting. A long yawn escaped her lips, and she heavily blinked under the glow of the streetlights. "Tired?"

She looked up. "Yeah. A little bit."

"Are you sure you don't want to just…."

"What?"

"Never mind. We're almost there."

She shrugged and smiled to herself as they turned into her old neighborhood. The headlights of the car illuminated the house where she and her father had lived. A melancholy feeling descended over her as she gazed over the unkempt yard and chipped paint. For a moment, she felt a dire need to repair it to its former state. No, though. This was the place of her past, and she knew that nothing could really be pieced back together. Attempting to hold onto all of it wasn't going to make the future any less uncertain.

Raoul parked the car in her driveway but didn't turn off the engine. "I guess I'll give you some time to relax," he slowly stated. "You seem a little tense. Is everything okay?"

"Yeah," she quickly replied. "I'm sorry. I'm just really, really tired. But we could get together for brunch or something. Is that okay? I'll be better in the morning."

He nodded. "Sure. Sounds good. I should probably get home tonight anyway."

She nodded and leaned over to quickly kiss him goodnight. "See you later, then." Climbing out of the car, she removed her luggage and travel bag, before digging through one of them to find the house key. Waving to Raoul as he drove away, she walked shivering to the front door and unlocked it. Ignoring the musty smell that greeted her nostrils, she flipped on the lights. Her eyes trailed fondly over the familiar sights of the old furniture and various pictures of water lilies that lined the walls. She almost felt disconnected from it, as though she were walking through someone else's house.

Her eyes fell over to the telephone and answering machine, two of the few appliances that she'd left plugged in during her absence. There were nine messages awaiting her. Rubbing her eyes tiredly, she pushed play and settled down onto the sofa to listen. Four were telemarketing recordings, two were silent, one was from a girl she had worked with when her father was ill, and one was someone wanting to do an interview over her kidnapping. _Hadn't she unlisted her number?_ Sighing, she waited to hear what number nine had to say, surprised when she saw the time of the call had been that day.

"Hey, Christine. It's Gavin. I drove down past the motel this evening on my way to the city. There's a light on in Room 224. Just thought you'd like to know. There's no need to call back. Enjoy the holidays."

She closed her eyes and listened to it a second time, before quickly deleting the message, feeling thankful that she had given him her phone number in case there were problems. Utter relief settled over her. Erik had kept his word and stayed. Christine folded her hands together and sat in the silence, knowing that she would now have to keep her word. Tomorrow, she would begin looking for information. Then, she would return and tell him whatever she could, anything to ensure his survival. And then…

She shivered in the emptiness, suddenly feeling a little alone. And then, she didn't know what would happen.


	28. Truth

Wow, guys. I continue to enjoy all of your reviews. This chapter begins a buildup toward the end of part 2. As someone noted, this is going to be a lengthy story. As long as everyone keeps reading, though, I'll keep going. Quite a bit of it is planned out :)

**Read and Review!!!**

Nadir was beginning to miss the daylight. His lungs ached for a breath of fresh air, without the odor of cleaning chemicals and dust. He almost wished that they would put him on trial and be done with it. Maybe they would at least move him to a facility where he would be given time outside each day. He didn't know which was worse, this isolation or being with other inmates. Erik had once commented that solitary confinement had been paradise when compared with being among other prisoners. When Mr. Khan had softly asked him what had happened, he had received nothing but an icy glare.

_Erik, where in Allah's name are you? Plotting against Oliver? Attempting to get me out of here? _Nadir was honestly surprised that Erik had not either succeeded at his mission or been captured and killed by this point, as he was not one to sit and wait for very long. _I hope he is not lying dead on the streets somewhere. _

Nadir's stomach clenched.

_For many months, he had returned to that decrepit house in the French countryside, finding some sort of connection with the strange two-person family._ He visited at least three times a week, never really knowing how it would all end up or whether he would stay there forever. Madeleine always greeted him with enthusiasm, before locking herself in one of the rooms or going into town for several hours. She was in desperate need to escape her son, and nothing that Nadir said made her feel any differently. To her, Erik was something unnatural and wrong.

Mr. Khan took it upon himself to introduce Erik to the outside world, bringing in magazines and periodicals, telling him of things that he could not learn in books. The boy slowly became more willing to talk to him, would seem to look forward to his visits. He would ask questions about other countries and other people, and Nadir attempted to answer them as best he could. At some point, though, the enquiries began to follow a pattern that bothered Nadir. "Other children go to school every day, don't they?" Erik had enquired, staring down at a magazine article about changes within the country's education system. "They all go together."

"Well, not every day," Nadir began. "But yes. Most go often."

"But I will never go because of the daylight."

He swallowed and rubbed his chin. "Well…I…I don't know about that, Erik."

"Are there places where people live only during the nighttime?" The yellow eyes stared up at him.

"There are jobs where people work at night. And…" He smiled, forcing optimism into his tone. "And in the cities, people are out at night all of the time. They keep everything lit up. Restaurants and theaters….Maybe you will see that someday."

"Yes," he solemnly replied, flipping to a picture of Paris at night. "I will go to the city and live only during the nighttime. I will see everything, but no one will see me."

Nadir had nodded, feeling a sadness come over him. "If that's what you want to do, Erik."

The next similar conversation had taken place three months later, after Erik had just turned nine. He grew wiser with each passing month, and Nadir detected a hint of bitterness now and then within that strange voice. Nadir had used his dwindling funds to buy him several new books for his birthday, along with a sketchpad and some colored charcoal. The first new book was about modern technology, filled with photographs of the new electronic products being produced around the world. Rather than looking at the articles discussing the possibilities of personal computers, Erik had focused upon an advertisement for a television set. "Why don't we have one?" he asked, an edge in his voice. "I want one."

"I suppose your mother doesn't want one," Nadir had replied. "Or maybe it would be difficult to get a signal here. I am not sure."

"The television," began Erik. "The television lets you see everyone, doesn't it? You can see everything with the television? But no one sees you? I read about how they work."

Nadir slowly nodded. "Well…more or less. It gives you pictures and sounds of many things."

"We should have one," he repeated. "We never have anything. And we go nowhere. All because of the sun. But with the television, the sunlight cannot get to me."

Mr. Khan had clenched his jaw and nodded. He had been there just over a year and had not dared to again question Madeleine about Erik's supposed condition. Still, he was continuously curious. And what kind of life could the boy live if he never stepped out of this accursed house? "Erik," he cautiously began. "Have you ever tried to go into the sunlight? Has it ever actually harmed you?"

He had shaken his head. "No. Mother says it will kill me."

Nadir hesitated. Madeleine was out of the house that day and wouldn't be back for several more hours. "What if we were to just try putting your hand in the light? If it hurts at all, we'll never have to do it again?"

The glowing eyes widened. "What if my skin falls off?" he asked. "What if the rest of me looks like my face does? Mother won't be happy."

Nadir frowned. The boy cared more about making his mother angry than he did about being in physical pain. "I don't think your skin will fall off. At most, it would get a little red, and then we would never do it again. Only if you want to, though. I will not force you."

Erik remained silent for several seconds, before slowly nodding. Mr. Khan suspected that the boy was smart enough to know that something wasn't quite right about his diagnosis, or else he wouldn't have been so willing to go through with the experiment. "Excellent. Just come right outside, and we'll see what happens."

He slowly approached. "Mother will not be happy," he murmured.

"She will never have to know, Erik. We'll keep this between us. How's that?"

Erik nodded. "That is best."

Nadir opened the door and slowly walked to where the house's shadow ended and the daylight began. Erik lagged behind him, his hands clenched into nervous fists. "Right over here. Just stick your hand out into the sun and pull it back."

The boy would not be rushed. He slowly made his way to the lighted yard and hesitated for several seconds. Unfolding his fist, he stuck his right hand into the sunlight, sharply drew it back, waited a moment, and then stuck it outward again. Erik turned his hand over, illuminating his pale palm. Nadir's heart nervously pounded but calmed when he saw that no trauma had occurred to the boy's flesh.

His heart leapt again when, without warning, Erik stepped completely into the sunlight. The yellow slits became smaller as the boy squinted, his eyes almost disappearing within their sockets. Still, nothing happened. A smile slowly spread across Nadir's face.

"It does not burn," Erik stated, turning around to face him. "Mother was wrong. It is only warm."

"Yes," replied Nadir, feeling almost happy for the first time in awhile. "It is. Stop looking at it, though. It will hurt your eyes." He allowed Erik to walk around in it for a few minutes, continuing to study his skin to ensure that no delayed reaction was taking place.

"Can I take my mask off?" he suddenly asked. "I will turn away so you do not have to see my face. Only for a moment."

Nadir swallowed but nodded. "If you wish, Erik. But we must go inside in a little while. You are not used to the rays."

"But we will come out again tomorrow?"

"When I come back. We will then."

Erik nodded. As Nadir watched him stand clutching his mask, the terrible visage turned in the opposite direction, a thirst for knowledge suddenly came over him. Why was such a lie told to Madeleine? Was it a mistake? Erik's physique was unusual; perhaps it resembled someone who had porphyria or some similar disease. But wouldn't someone have taken the time to make a proper diagnosis?

Or was there something else to the matter? Had someone wanted to keep Erik and Madeleine hidden away? But why? "Erik. I think it is time to go inside now." _The boy quickly put the cloth mask back on and turned around, walking to the door with a slightly more upright posture. He quickly followed behind._

Nadir rubbed his head and lay back onto the prison bed, still able to feel the sun's rays from that spring day. At the time, the event had seemed blessed. Erik was no longer confined to the house, confined to his mother's fear. Looking back, though, the act had also slowly begun to reveal a cold truth. The problem was never the sunlight. The problem was always Erik's face. Maybe Madeleine always knew that. Maybe she had never truly believed the daylight would kill her son, despite what the doctor had told her, only using the excuse to keep him away from the cruelness of the world. Perhaps it was the only form of love she knew how to give him.

* * *

After a brief phone conversation, Christine met Raoul for brunch at an upscale restaurant the next morning. Her night had consisted of a shallow sleep and clouded dreams, and she found herself struggling to concentrate throughout their meal together. The knowledge that Erik was safe brought her extreme relief, but the anxiety didn't completely fade. It was as though his life now rested within her hands and was dependent on her discovering something of value. Honestly, she wasn't sure where to begin, and guilt continued to plague her as she was forced to deceive her fiancé. 

She ensured that the conversation stayed within careful boundaries, until it finally faded into a somewhat comfortable silence. She could talk about college, and he could talk about work, but there was little common ground. It was only when they were walking to their cars to head to his house that she wondered if Raoul could be the one to provide her with information. A part of her also wanted to know his feelings on the events of last spring, to know if there was any connection left between them over their experience. Didn't traumatic events bring people together? "Raoul?" she softly asked, as they stood in the middle of the half-empty parking lot.

He smiled, perhaps glad that she was making conversation. "Yeah?"

"Do you ever think about what happened to us last spring…and wonder why it happened?"

"What?" His mouth formed a line. "I've been trying to forget it," he replied. "I…don't think much about it at all. We don't have any reason to worry anymore."

She bit her lip. "But don't you want to know why it happened? I mean, don't you want to know why they were so angry?"

"No," he immediately replied. "What they did was monstrous. No reason could justify it. I'm just glad that no one else has to fear them anymore."

"I…" She decided to end the conversation before she accidentally revealed something. "I guess you're right."

"Yeah." He took her hand. "I hope we can both forget it."

"Yeah. I'll see you at the house." She released her hand, climbed into her car, and followed behind him as they drove the short distance to the giant brick home. She recalled when she had gone to the house on the night of her kidnapping, remembered thinking that it would soon be her home as well. _Mrs. de Chagny of 1038 Castle Drive. _A melancholy feeling came over her as she realized that the name no longer sounded right. She was still Ms. Daae of…nothing.

She climbed out of her car and followed Raoul inside. The white walls and high ceilings looked as they had before, every tiny sound echoing off of them. The cream carpet was neatly vacuumed, and the furniture was still polished to a shine. Her gaze wandered over to the office, settling on the file cabinets and shelves.

"Everything look the same?" asked Raoul with a laugh.

She quickly glanced away and nodded. "Yes. It's still a beautiful home."

He smiled. "Well…it'll be your home, too."

"Yeah. Thanks." She kept her eyes from straying toward the office. A silence passed.

"Well, let's go into the living area." Christine nodded and followed, wondering how she would ever be able to look for information. She could never explain to Raoul why she wanted to dig up his family's history, not without putting Erik in danger. Should she stay the night and go in there while he was asleep? An unpleasant taste arose in her mouth. "Were you going to see Meg today?" he asked, as they both sat down on the couch.

Christine glanced up. "Yeah. I was going to give her a call. Why?"

"Well-and this is only if you're going to Meg's- I was just going to finish some things up at work. That way I'll be done for the rest of the holiday. It should only take a few hours. I'll wait till you leave, though."

She nodded. "Oh! Go whenever you need to. Don't worry about me. I'll see her sometime this afternoon."

"And we'll get together for dinner?" he offered. "Like I said, it should only take me a couple of hours."

"Yeah." She smiled. "That sounds good. I'll just give her a call now and find out what time I should meet with her."

She picked up the wireless phone and stepped into the dining room. It was only in the silence that she realized an opportunity was slowly presenting itself. Raoul would be gone, and she would be alone there. She even had a key if she needed to get back inside. _What am I doing?_ But what else could she do? The only other option would be to stay the night, and that was even riskier. She dropped the receiver to her side. What if there was nothing even in those file cabinets? If there was, though, it could help her find the truth. It could help her save Erik.

_What exactly are you trying to save Erik from? _His possible demise was no longer the only thing on her mind. If she could find some clue as to what happened in the past, she could then understand. And if she could understand, she could reach him somehow. She could help him. A rapid, high-pitched beep came from the receiver, startling her from her thoughts. She turned the phone off to silence it and took a deep breath, waiting several moments before emerging. She would do this for Erik, and she would have no regrets.

"Did you get a hold of her?" her fiancé asked as she entered.

She avoided looking into his kind eyes. "Yeah. We're meeting in two hours."

* * *

Raoul left only an hour later, after they had watched the last half of a movie together with little conversation. He trusted her there by herself, had no reason to think ill will of her. As he kissed her right before he departed, she felt her heart clench. This couldn't go on forever, she knew. At some point, something would fall apart. Still, she only waved goodbye as he walked to his car with a leather briefcase. 

After waiting about ten minutes and ensuring that he was truly gone, she headed into the office and brushed her hand over the cool metal of the file cabinet. She opened the top drawer, cringing when it sharply squeaked. It obviously hadn't been opened for some time. Raoul truly had no desire to know the past. A long row of papers met her eyes, and she randomly withdrew several of the white sheets. They were just business documents, tax information and account numbers. Some were receipts, and others were contracts. She had no idea where to begin. Honestly, she'd never been sure. The possibility of her finding something of use had just been a way to get Erik to stay. _And he had. And now she was going to fail him! _

She calmed down and took a breath, continuing to search for at least twenty minutes. She finally spotted a blue folder at the back of the file cabinet, one that looked as though it had been placed where no one would notice it. The phone suddenly rang out from the living room, causing her to jump. Christine hesitated, wondering if she should let the machine get it. It could be Raoul, though, telling her what time he would be finished. Only a half hour had passed, and he could assume that she was still at his house. After the third ring, she picked it up, if for no more reason than to stop the hollow noise. "Hello?"

"Good afternoon," greeted a deep male voice with a British accent. "Or I suppose it's still morning there. Is Mr. de Chagny available?"

"No. He's at work for a while. Can I take a message?"

"Who is this?"

She looked at the caller id and saw that the number couldn't be identified. "This is his fiancée."

"Oh!" he jovially exclaimed. "Christine, isn't it? Well, it's my pleasure then. My name is Frederick Oliver. I'm a close friend of Raoul's family."

_Frederick Oliver….Where had she seen that before? _"I see," she replied, taking a seat on the leather sofa. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Oliver."

"You can call me Frederick," he replied with good humor. "And how are you doing? I saw you on television several times with Raoul. Let me just tell you that you are a lovely young lady."

"Oh." She shifted. "Thank you. I'm doing well. Just on holiday break."

"Very good. Very good. You sing, correct? Raoul said you had quite the voice."

She laughed lightly. "I'm okay. Getting better, hopefully."

"Excellent. You should really meet my niece. She sings as well. Maybe you've heard of her? Carlotta Glouer?"

Her eyes widened. "Your niece is Carlotta Glouer! I've seen her on television several times. She had a wonderful voice. She's in the opera now, right?"

"Yes! We're very proud of her. Maybe if you and Raoul ever come to London, I could introduce you to her. Wouldn't that be fun? You two might get along."

A woman's voice cut in behind him. "Freddie….how do I order a glass of wine in Spanish? You would think knowing French, German, and English would be enough. But I'm making an idiot of myself downstairs. When are you coming down?"

He must have put his hand over the receiver, for all was suddenly silent. Christine continued to try and remember where she had seen his name. Had Raoul spoken of him at one time? "I'm sorry about that," he stated, returning to the phone. "I have company. What was I saying before?"

"Um. Something about coming to London," she replied. _Oliver?…Oliver?…Falcon! _"Is that where you live?"

"Well, usually but not at the moment," he replied, a tinge of annoyance in his voice. "I'm taking a prolonged vacation in Spain, down by the Mediterranean. Beautiful country, at least once you get out of the dirty, impoverished areas. I'd recommend it."

"I see," she softly replied. Curiosity was competing with uncertainty. She could possibly obtain valuable information, but she could also give it away. _Who was this man?_

"Well, you say Raoul is gone? I just wished to have a short discussion with him. We've been getting to know each other well over the past few weeks. He reminds me a bit of Louis."

"Yes. He'll be back this afternoon."

"Ah. Pity. Well, I won't keep you on long, sweetheart. Let me just say that you're a very lovely and brave girl, after all you went through. Very luck, too. But you're aware of that, I'm sure."

She froze, hearing a strange tone within his voice. "I….I guess."

"Of course you are! You survived the madman's clutches. Not many could attest to that." He paused. "But you never got a look behind the mask, I imagine?"

Her heart thudded with the realization that she was talking with someone who knew far more than she could have imagined. "No," she murmured. "I never did."

"I see." He momentarily sounded disappointed, before his voice perked up again. "Good thing, sweetheart. Good thing. You would have had nightmares for months. Best that a lovely girl like you doesn't have to see such things."

Curiosity finally got the better of her. "What's under…the mask?"

"Oh. You don't want to know that."

She clenched her jaw and gripped onto the phone. "Please tell me," she pled with a sort of feigned girlishness. "I'm sure I can handle it."

He sighed. "Well…picture a rotting skull on one side. Now picture a face with no skull beneath it on the other side…a mass of flesh hanging down. It's hard to describe. Disgusting, though."

Christine sharply inhaled. "That's awful…" she quietly replied, leaning back into the sofa. _Dear God._ _Erik_. "I…" Something suddenly occurred to her. _Oliver was speaking as though he knew…_ "But he's dead now, right?" she questioned with false eagerness. "We don't have to worry about him anymore, right?"

There was a pause. "Of course. You're right. No more worries."

She could hear something strange in the way he spoke "That's good," she replied, continuing her act as best she could. "I'm glad the other evil men are locked up, too. It makes me feel so much safer."

"Yes. Much agreed. I was one of the ones who helped orchestrate it," he proudly stated. "The world is a safer place now."

"Oh. Thank you! I hope they keep them locked up," she continued. "I hope they're someplace where they can't get out."

"Oh. Don't worry about that. They're in Belmarsh. It's a high security prison where they put some of the terrorists and other illegal citizens in the country. No one escapes. No worries at all."

"That makes me feel so much better," she replied, leaning forward on the couch. _What else did this man know? _"Frederick," she began, keeping her voice steady. "I've always wondered…do you have any idea why this happened? Why did those awful people do that to us?"

"Because they're monsters," he replied, clearly into the conversation. "Especially the masked one, sweetheart. He was evil and blamed others for his problems. A vile creature. Some people are simply born wrong. He's as ugly inside as he is on the outside." His voice was filled with enthusiasm, as if he took a certain amount of pleasure from the entire affair, as if he saw himself as a hero against a gang of villains.

She bit her tongue to keep from saying something _vile _to Mr. Oliver. "Oh. I see. That's horrible!" It was too dangerous to prod for more information. Besides, her heart was about to hammer up into her throat. "Well…I'm just happy we don't have to worry about it anymore."

"Yes," he replied. "Raoul and I will continue to ensure that no harm comes to you."

"Thank you so much, Frederick." She was eager to get off the phone before something slipped out. "I guess I'd better go now. I'm meeting with my friend. I'll tell Raoul that you called."

"Goodbye, sweetheart. I've enjoyed talking to you. We'll all have to get together sometime."

"Yes. We will."

"Have a good day."

"You, too." Christine hung up and collapsed back into the couch with a sigh. Quickly, she went back through the conversation in her head to make sure that she had given nothing away. No. She had said nothing. If anything, Frederick had divulged more to her than he had realized. _Belmarsh? Spain?_ And did he know that Erik was alive?

Another train of thought entered her mind.

_Well…picture a rotting skull on one side. Now picture a face with no skull beneath it on the other side…a mass of flesh hanging down. _She swallowed as several visuals came into her mind, none of them pleasant. _Oh God._ Was he exaggerating? She shouldn't think about such things; it was cruel. But…_Erik. Poor Erik! _

She needed to focus. She needed to go back to the file cabinets and start looking again. Her mind was going a thousand miles a minute as she returned to the office. She grabbed the blue folder and opened it, finding several less formal documents inside. There were letters and memorandums that had been hastily written. At least a half hour passed as she browsed through them all, most of them making little sense to her. A wrinkled letter suddenly caught her eye, or at least the signature at the bottom of it did. _Frederick. _It was from the early eighties.

_Louis,_

_Are we really going to let one ugly little boy ruin everything? The second his face gets on television, we'll be sued for everything we own. Not to mention, investigations will open up in every other corner of Europe. We'll be blamed for every ailment out there, all because you won't give in and be rid of one little boy. The kid probably won't last more than a couple of years. He can't be healthy. Honestly, if my wife gave birth to that, I would have done away with it for its own sake. I…_

"Christine? What are you doing?"


	29. Alone

Once again, the feedback is incredible. I love to read every single review and will try to do replies this time around. This chapter speaks for itself, and so I'll let you get to reading it. There might be a slight delay after this chapter due to school getting busy right before Thanksgiving. Luckily, there's not much of a cliffhanger ;)

**Read and Review!!!**

"Christine?"

Her eyes widened as the voice came from directly behind her. She quickly folded the letter and discreetly stuffed it into the pocket of her black slacks, before turning around to stare into the confused eyes of her fiancé. Her heart pounded. "Raoul…" she murmured with shame.

"What are you doing?" he repeated. He set down his briefcase and gestured to the file cabinet. "Why are you looking in there?"

"I…" She tapered off as no possible excuse or explanation came to mind. "I was just looking for information on…some things in the past." There were no more lies left to tell, and, frankly, she was tired of lying.

"What? I don't understand."

"I was…." Christine paused, needing time to think. "Why are you here? I didn't even hear you come in."

"I came in through the garage. I forgot that I was expecting an important phone call this morning and came back to try to get it."

"From who?" she questioned, her eyes narrowing.

"Just business matters. Some guy who knew my father." He shook his head, realizing that the conversation had taken an unwanted detour. "But…what are you doing in my dad's file cabinet?"

"Raoul…" Christine sighed. "Don't you ever want to know the reasons for what happened to us? Aren't you curious at all? Maybe these papers will tell us something. Have you ever looked?"

"No," he replied. "I just want to forget it. I don't care what's in there. What happened wasn't our fault, Christine. I don't understand why you're so worried about it. Is there something I don't know?"

"No," she quickly replied. "There's nothing. I just want to know. I want to know why it happened. I think about it every day."

"Christine," he softly began, coming over to her and taking her clammy hand. "Ever since last spring, things haven't been the same between us. All because of _that_…I just wish things could get back to normal. We're free from that. I don't understand why we can't leave it behind us."

"I just can't," she murmured. "I want to know. I can't just forget."

"I've been waiting for you," he continued, gently squeezing her hand. "I understand that you want to go to school. But…what if we just got married anyway? You could still go to college, but we could at least start beginning our lives. Let's put that nightmare behind us."

"Raoul, I…." She looked down toward the spotless carpet. "Frederick Oliver called. Is that who you were waiting for?"

"Yeah. He called?"

"Yes." She frowned. "I'm not sure if he's a very good person. What are you doing with him?"

"He's just helping me with some company matters. But what does this have to do with-"

"He's the one who…put…our captors in jail?" she whispered.

Her fiancé paused. "Yes. He got to them before they could get to him. But why…what does that matter? We're safe now. Christine…" He placed his free palm upward in a gesture of confusion. "What do you want from me? To be sorry they're in prison? To be sorry that evil man died? I can't be. A month of my life was stolen because of them. They would have killed me if it wasn't for you! I don't…I don't know what to say…"

"You…you really don't want to know?"

"No. I'm sorry. I just want to get on with my life. With our lives."

Christine slowly nodded, her gaze still focused on the floor. She could feel tears in her eyes as a sort of realization came over her. She gently stroked her thumb over the back of his hand, before releasing her grip and looking back up. "You're right," she softly stated. "I shouldn't be accusing you. It's…this isn't fair to you. It's not your fault. It's just…the way things are."

"What?"

"Things have changed so much over the last year," she continued, feeling a heavy sensation encase her heart. "Everything has. We both have."

"So we can fix it," he replied with a note of desperation, perhaps disturbed by the look in her glistening eyes. "We can figure it out."

"Raoul? Have you noticed that we hardly know what to say to each other anymore? We're not even married. We've been away from each other for months, and we don't have anything to talk about. How is getting married going to fix anything?"

"What are you saying?" he asked, again taking her limp hand.

"It's not working," she whispered. "Everything is too different. And you don't deserve this. You don't deserve me going hundreds of miles away and delaying your life." _You don't deserve me lying to you all the time._

"I don't mind, Christine," he pled. "It's fine. I just wish we could begin out lives…" He paused and turned away from her, running his hand over his forehead and through his hair. "Everything was fine between us until…" Anger passed over his handsome features, before slowly giving way to distress.

"Maybe," she softly replied. "Or maybe we just found out sooner than we would have otherwise." She shook her head. "It doesn't matter, I guess. Nothing can be changed." She wiped the stray tears from her cheek, and they were both silent for several moments.

"What…what do you want me to do?" he asked. "Is there anything I can do?"

Christine sadly smiled through her tears. He had been so good to her. Should she stay, he would always be good to her. A part of her wanted to embrace his broad shoulders and to accept all he had to offer her; he still looked like the little boy she had met on the playground. This giant home held everlasting warmth, comfort, and security. It held promises of smiling, golden-haired children and frolicking pets, of cozy winter holidays by the fire and summer barbecues under the beaming sun.

She would regret it over time, though. She wouldn't appreciate it as she should have, for there would always be the feeling that this perfection was tainted. An awakened part of her also told her that she could never go back to this, a sensation that she could only feel without really understanding, an unfulfilled longing for something more. "No," she finally replied in a hoarse voice. "There's nothing you can do. Except…."

She slowly slid the heavy diamond ring off her trembling hand, continuing to choke back tears. "Here," she whispered. "Find someone's who's better than me, who will stay around and treat you well. There are so many great people out there. And you deserve to settle down with someone."

"Christine," his voice cracked slightly. "Are you sure we can't…figure this out together. I love you."

"I'm so sorry." She wiped her eyes. "It just doesn't work anymore. We're both going to end up miserable. I don't even know what I want anymore. I'm so confused right now. I'm so, so sorry. I should have told you sooner."

He finally took the ring from her and closed his hand over it. He took a step backwards. "There's nothing I can say?" he asked. "Nothing I can do that will fix it? I just…I don't even know how to reach out to you anymore."

She also took another step backwards, so that the distance between them was significant. "No. I'm sorry. You can't reach me. I just…I need to be on my own for awhile. I need time to think. And you need someone better than that. You deserve it more than anyone, Raoul."

He just looked away from her, and she felt horrible guilt for the pain she was causing him. Time only would have made it worse, though, would have made the parting bitterer. "Do you want me to stay for awhile?" she softly asked, not wanting to leave him alone.

"No," he hoarsely replied. "I guess…I guess you'd better go now."

She slowly nodded and swallowed. "All right," she whispered. "Please take care." Eyes still blurred with tears, she grabbed her purse and turned around, rushing out the door and into the cold and cloudy afternoon. Climbing into her car, she turned on the engine and drove for several miles, before pulling into an empty restaurant parking lot. Still allowing the heat to blow over her, she leaned over the steering wheel and began to cry.

It was the first time in her life that she'd ever been alone, without her father or a fiancé, without someone warm and caring to comfort and protect her. The feeling was strange and frightening, almost heart wrenching. She knew that Raoul would take her back if she returned at that moment. He was probably hoping that she would return.

But no. _No!_ _No._ She was just looking for solace again, for escape from uncertainty and solitude. Outside of that, there was little left between them. She loved Raoul for being there for her, for being a wonderful person and for taking care of her. But they would both end up miserable if they stayed together. She would always be searching for something else. The last few months were evidence of that. Even if she felt confused and vulnerable at the moment, she couldn't go back. _God help me._

With a shuddery breath, she sat up and brushed her tangled hair out of her tear-soaked face. She felt something poke her in the thigh and remembered the piece of paper in her pocket. Slowly, she pulled the letter out to finish reading it, recalling the sickening sensation in her stomach that the words had produced.

_Honestly, if my wife gave birth to that, I would have done away with it for its own sake. I can't understand why you would risk the future of your own family. Don't you have your second son on the way? We're going to nip this thing in the bud while it's a tiny disturbance, before it becomes a crisis that destroys us all. Just remember, the company is behind me. Even Lawrence is behind me. If you try to stop it, just remember it's yourself and your family that will face the consequences. _

_Your friend, _

_Frederick_

Bile rose up in her mouth. She knew without a doubt that Erik was that little boy described earlier in the letter. Someone had been trying to kill him since he was a child. But why? What kind of sick people would do this?

Some resolve replaced her depression. Lives were possibly at stake, and a delay might make the situation worse. If Oliver knew that Erik was alive, then the danger was greater. She would soon return and tell Erik what she had discovered, pray that it was of use to him. She was more determined than ever to keep him alive, to not let him die after his life had consisted of the nightmare that was slowly unfolding before her. He deserved to live, and she no longer had to worry about being deceitful.

Christine stared down at her empty ring finger as she placed her hands back onto the steering wheel. How could she feel so liberated and so alone at the same time? She sat there for a moment, watching the bare trees sway in the frigid November breeze. There was too much to think about on this day, too much to cry over. After a second, she turned off the engine and took several quarters out of her purse, before walking over to a nearby payphone. Taking a breath, she dialed a number and waited as it rang.

"Hi, Meg. Yeah. I'm back. Mind if I come over for a little while?" A pause. "No. I…I'm fine. I just…I don't feel like being alone right now."

* * *

As he sat in the tiny cell, one of the most vivid days in Nadir's mind was the next time he returned to Madeleine's house, about three days after allowing Erik into the sunlight. 

He had been in a good mood on that warm afternoon, wondering where else he might be able to take Erik. There was always his small house, although there was very little to do except for staring at a few interesting pieces of Iranian artwork. How would the public react to a little boy in a mask? Perhaps they could find some other mask that blended in with his skin color, making it less noticeable at first glance. Surely somewhere in the modern era there was a solution. Surely it was no longer right to keep a child with such possibilities cooped up like an invalid.

As he came around the cracked fence and toward the familiar home, Nadir was immediately met by Madeleine. She raced out of her house barefooted, her face contorted with rage and her dark curls flying out wildly behind her. "You!" she exclaimed, almost out of breath. "You let him outside! Into the sunlight!"

Nadir's eyes widened as a wave of panic swept over him. "What! Is he ill? Is he hurt?"

"You let him outside without my permission," she continued, angrily gesturing toward the second floor of the house. "How dare you! I trusted you!"

"Madeleine." He raced over to her and grabbed her shoulders. "Has something happened to Erik?" he frantically asked. "Has the sun made him sick? Tell me now!"

She shrugged him off of her. "He wants to go out now. He wants to see the town. All these days he has asked me. What am I supposed to say? Did you ever think of that, Nadir? What am I supposed to say?" Her hands were trembling now, and her voice was panicked.

"So he is well?" Nadir enquired, feeling his heart calm. He took a deep breath. "Maddy…you should be thrilled by this news. The sun cannot hurt him. It was all a lie or a misdiagnosis. How can you not be elated by this?"

"No!" she nearly snarled. "Don't you understand? He wants things that he cannot have. He wants to leave this house. All because you did that! How could you, Nadir? How could you do that to me? To him?"

"Maddy!" He gripped her shoulders again in an attempt to calm her down. "Listen to me. He has every right to know the sun isn't going to kill him. No child should have to live with that false fear. How could you…."

"So it is better for him to go into public?" she harshly retorted. "It is better for him to be stared at? It is better for him to know that no one could look at that face without wanting to vomit? Is that it, Nadir? Is that it?"

Nadir could feel himself growing angry, his frustration with her ignorance reaching its peak. "Have you considered that every human being may not be as harsh as you, Madeleine? His life may never be easy, but it certainly has to be better than this isolation. Do you really think you can keep him here forever? Even as a grown man?"

"I don't know!" she exclaimed, whirling away from him. "I kept waiting for him to…." She released an anguished groan. "How could you do this to me? I do not need this now. Not now…Not now…."

He shook his head. "The boy is too smart to stay here forever. I daresay he has already gotten to know just how cruel mankind can be." His eyes focused directly upon her. "He is barely nine, and I can already sense his anger sometimes. And…"

"And what, Nadir?" she snapped. "Any other words of wisdom from a man who has never even raised a child?"

Her words stung him more than she might have realized, but he kept his composure. "And someone treated like a monster can only grow up to be so."

She shook her head in denial and began to walk at a fast pace toward the house. "Leave, Nadir!" she yelled. "Just leave and do not come back. Erik is no longer in need of you."

He had refrained from making another angry retort. What choice did he have but to turn around and leave? He had no legal claim to the child. With a sigh, Nadir had returned to his house in a miserable state, feeling stuck in a situation over which he had little control. He stayed away from Erik and Madeleine for some time, wallowing in his solitude, before he considered returning to them. Madeleine's anger would likely pass, and he doubted that she liked being there by herself again. Sooner or later, she would probably do anything to get away from her deformed son.

About a month after the heated exchange with Maddy, Mr. Khan sat in a restaurant some twenty miles away from his home, staring into a cup of tea and pondering these thoughts. He had needed to get away from the countryside for awhile, needed to be around other people. Most of the conversation around him consisted of family matters or local gossip, and he paid little attention. One exchange between an elderly woman and a man in his later twenties caught his ear, though.

"Your brother says you are moving?" enquired the grey-haired woman. "What a shame. Hasn't your family lived in this area for years? About ten miles east of here? I seem to remember playing with your grandmother as a child."

"Yes…well…" He cleared his throat and adjusted his glasses. "I have a good job secured in Paris now."

"Ah," she somberly replied. "Leaving your heritage for more money. It seems like many are leaving for that these days."

"That's not it at all," he defensively replied. "My wife has had two terrible miscarriages this last year. It's really taking a toll upon her health. We're going to the city to have a professional look at her. The facilities there are supposed to be excellent." His face turned a little red, as if he regretted suddenly giving out so much information.

"I see," the woman replied with more sympathy. "I'm sorry for your troubles. That is a shame."

He nodded. "Yes. I do have good memories of this area. I will miss it."

"Yes. Well, good luck to you, young man."

"Thank you."

Nadir swallowed the remainder of his tea as the conversation ended, finding it somewhat bitter tasting. He paid the bill and began to slowly walk back to his car, his hands resting in his pockets. The streets were quieter as the evening approached. A strange and unpleasant sensation began to form in his stomach. _Was it all a coincidence?_

After only a moment's consideration, he drove straight to Madeleine's house. The downstairs lights were still on, and he quickly climbed out of his car and walked to her front door. After knocking, he waited, praying she wouldn't come out and start screaming at him.

The door opened, and Madeleine blinked several times. Her eyes had dark circles beneath them. "Nadir," she quietly stated, appearing more exhausted than angry.

"Maddy!" he exclaimed, immediately noticing her crimson-dotted house skirt. "Are you injured?"

She wearily looked down toward the red stains. "Oh. That. No. It is not mine." She waved a hand toward the house. "He accidentally broke my bedroom mirror, cut his hands. But he is fine. Bandaged and in his room now."

Nadir frowned, doubting that _accident_ was the right word for what had occurred. Still, he didn't want to argue with the poor woman. "I…am very sorry. I'm glad that he wasn't injured badly." He stepped forward. "May I come in?"

She blocked his path. "It's been a long day. Maybe tomorrow."

"I…" He took a deep breath. "Madeleine, there's something I need to tell you."

She looked up curiously. "What is it, Nadir?"

He didn't know how to begin, except… "Something…something is not right here."

"What's not right?"

Nadir sighed. "Will you please let me in, Madeleine? I will not stay long."

She hesitated, before slowly nodding. _Stepping back, she allowed him to enter her home._

Despite the stuffy air of the prison cell, Nadir shuddered. That's where it had all begun. He almost didn't want to think about it anymore, wanted to block it from his mind like a bad dream. It was really no wonder that Erik had blissful breaks from reality, moments of insanity that he could never quite remember afterwards. Erik claimed that those moments gave him the greatest strength and stealth, to an almost superhuman degree.

Soon after Erik had accomplished his first act of revenge, Nadir had enquired as to how he had ever managed his way into Richard Firmin's heavily guarded mansion. Erik had laughed. _I do not really remember, Nadir. My mind escapes me. _He laughed again, a twisted and psychotic chuckle. _He screamed, though, especially when I turned the furnace up. I do remember that. Scream for me, Monsieur Firmin! I said that, you see. I said that! Pity. I remember little else of that delightful evening. _

Nadir shuddered again. His mind was becoming more of a prison than the tiny cell.


	30. Sweet Indifference

Hey guys! I'm glad everyone liked the last chapter. I think that many of you will like this one, as well. Chapter 32 will probably be the last chapter of Part 2. Part 3 will begin much of the action, as well as a little more of the romance. All characters will come into play. Anyway, I hope everyone continues to enjoy!

**Read and Review!!! **

"So it's really over?" asked Meg, sitting down on the sofa and tucking her feet beneath her. Ever since Christine had come to the front door of the Giry house, there had been the hints of a frown on her best friend's face. "You permanently broke the engagement?"

"Yeah," she replied, leaning back into the cushioned armchair. Mrs. Giry seemed to have a knack for buying comfortable furniture. "I just realized that we didn't have enough in common anymore. I'm gone most of the time, anyway."

"Is everything else okay?" Meg asked, perhaps noticing the troubled glint in her eyes. "I mean, outside of breaking up with Raoul?"

Christine hesitated. "Yes. I think I'll be fine. I'm just figuring everything out. Breaking up with him was hard, but…it was better for everyone. Even for Raoul."

Meg nodded. "So what are you going to do now? Just go to school?"

Christine quickly nodded back. There was no way she would ever tell Meg anything more. "Yes. I'm just going to continue what I'm doing. Singing is going well. I…I can't believe that I almost gave it up." She paused. "I'm thinking of selling my dad's house during Christmas break. I'm not around enough to keep paying taxes on it. It's just becoming a burden."

"So you're leaving here forever?" Meg asked with a deep frown.

"No," she replied reassuringly. "I mean, I'll come visit you. And I have a few relatives around this area. I just don't have a reason to be here permanently anymore. My dad is gone, and Raoul and I aren't together."

"Yeah," she murmured. "I guess not." Meg continued to look downtrodden. "Are you staying here for the entire week?"

Christine hesitated and looked away. She'd been wondering the same thing. "I think I might head back early, if I can get a plane. There are some things I need to catch up with."

"Oh. I guess you're really moving on, then."

Guilt came upon her for the second time that day. "I'm sorry, Meg. You know you're my best friend. It's just…" She sighed, knowing that there was really no way to make it better. "Everything has gotten so confusing, and I just…need to go where I can actually be useful."

Meg finally smiled a little. "Yeah. I know. You've got a lot going for you up there. Just don't forget to give me a call once in awhile."

"Of course I will! At least once a week! Believe me, you're one of the only people I have left to talk to."

Meg laughed and resumed her normally cheerful demeanor. "I guess I'll have to save my bridesmaid gown for some other time. The length was finally right on it, too."

Christine sighed. "I was going to see if I could even get Raoul a partial refund. If anyone wants that style, maybe they could just make some changes to the design."

"Or you could save it," Meg softly suggested. "It's a beautiful dress. And I mean…someday…you'll be ready again."

"Like I said, Raoul paid for it. It wouldn't be right. Plus, it's too glamorous for me. It's…well…for a Countess."

Her friend's eyes widened. "That's right! You're giving up all that. I mean, the noble title and the wealth. Wow."

Christine laughed, was grateful to just relax with her easygoing friend for a few moments before she faced whatever was to come "Yes. I guess I'm stuck being a commoner." She shifted on the cushion to get comfortable, immediately feeling the note in her pocket. Again, she was reminded of her discoveries and of the task ahead of her. Meg's warm house no longer seemed as protective against the autumn wind. She shivered.

"Is something wrong, Christine? You just turned a little white."

"No," she quickly replied. "I'm fine."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah. Just a chill."

If Meg didn't believe her, she refrained from prying anymore. A silence passed between them. "So how much longer are you staying?"

"There are a couple of things I want to do here," she replied. "Just a few errands. I want to clean out my dad's house some more. I want to buy a new cell phone, especially since I'm on my own so much now." She paused. "I might also run out to the cemetery to see my dad once more, put some flowers on the grave. And then… I guess I'll go."

Christine had come to realize that delaying her return would do little good; in fact, it might even cause harm. In some ways, she was eager to get back, to reveal her discoveries and find some sort of hope in all of this chaos.

"And you'll be back at Christmas?" Meg asked, breaking her from her thoughts.

"Yeah," she murmured, feeling her heart grow a little heavy. "I will be." She knew that _he _would be gone by that time, no matter how long she attempted to delay it. His departure was inevitable. All she could do was hope that he stayed alive.

Meg must have noticed the distraught expression on her face. "Maybe you need a good cry, Christine. You have been through a lot this year."

She sighed and shook her head. "That's all I've been doing lately, Meg. Crying over everything." She paused and looked down at her empty ring finger. "Sometimes…sometimes I wish that I could just be indifferent to all of it."

* * *

He relished the solitude, the absence of noise and sunlight. During the daytime, he lingered in the room, sitting in thought or weaving notes together. Now that his limited funds were no longer devoted to transportation, he could afford small trifles like pens and paper for composing. He had even purchased several new items of clothing one evening, his face always covered by a scarf and his hands concealed in gloves. It amused him to no end how frightened the cashiers and sales clerks would become in his presence, trembling as though the reaper had come to claim them. Even when every part of his disgusting body was covered, people still feared him. 

Occasionlly, he would sleep for an hour or two, merely to increase his strength and concentration. During the later hours of the night, when most of the city had escaped the cold, he would take the violin to a deserted area. He would play for hours, perfectly able to remember both his _Don Juan Triumphant_ and more recent piece that was devoted to _her_. It was divine to play again, to release tension and find at least some peace of mind as he awaited her return. It occurred to him that, had vengeance not consumed his thoughts for these many years, he would have been content to find a place to hide himself away with his music.

Except…except, now, he would not be content with complete solitude. No. Now, he would want her there, too. Just him and her in a hidden place where no one else would ever touch them, where the rays of the sun could not creep into his mask and make the porcelain cling to his sore flesh…where hours upon hours could be devoted to music and being in her company. Yes. It would be divine to be in such a place with Christine Daae.

Perhaps he had too much spare time, for it was rare that he indulged in such fantasies. Still, the thoughts were more calming than the ones in which he planned Oliver's demise. For the first time in years, he was focusing on something besides death, both his own and that of others. It was all short-lived, he knew, but it was still his to have. Even if it would ultimately amount to nothing, he could savor these moments of anticipating her return, of wanting something besides revenge.

He recalled the first time that he had ever felt true hatred, had wanted vengeance. That was another problem with having too much spare time; memories occasionally crept into his mind, the majority of them unpleasant.

He had been nine years old, standing in the stairwell with both hands wrapped in bandages. Small red stains dotted the gauze from where the blood had begun to soak through. He hadn't even remembered shattering the frame of glass. At one moment, he had been staring into the giant mirror without his mask. Within another second, the jagged shards lay scattered at his feet and his hands were stinging and bleeding. His mother had thrown quite the tantrum. He had remained calm, though, and informed her where the bandages and disinfectant were located. She had then promptly sent him to his room.

From the stuffy upstairs room-more an attic than a bedroom-he had watched from his window as Nadir came up the cracked walkway. He had bitterly wondered if his mother would send Mr. Khan away again and intensely regretted ever telling her that Nadir had permitted him into the daylight. It took him only a day to realize that his mother truly wanted him hidden away...that the 'deadly' sunlight had been a mere convenience. _I will be trapped with her forever, _he remembered thinking. _All because of my face. _

As Nadir knocked upon the door, he silently crept out of his bedroom and down the stairs. His mother believed herself to have locked his door, but he had learned by the age of four how to escape the dim confines. It was difficult for him to hear what they said to each other outside, but, within a few moments, his mother had allowed Mr. Khan into their living area. She offered him a seat, her voice exhausted and devoid of hope.

"I don't understand what you are saying," she began. "What is not right? What are you referring to?"

"I am not completely sure," stated Nadir. There was a strange tone within his voice. "This evening, I was at a restaurant and heard two people speaking. I believe that the younger man lives around this area. I think I've seen him and his wife working in the garden. Anyhow, he was telling an older woman that they were leaving for Paris."

"Many people are heading to the cities," she replied. "There is better work."

"Yes. I realize that. But this man was leaving to get medical care for his wife. She has had two miscarriages recently. Bad ones, from what I heard."

Again, his mother sounded disinterested. "That is not uncommon. I still don't understand."

"What I'm saying," began Nadir with slight exasperation, "is that there are too many coincidences. My wife and child, that man's wife, and…and Erik's face. Something is not right. I would be interested to know how many others have had difficulties."

"But what could it possibly be? A curse of some kind?"

_He_ had sneered at his mother from his place on the stairs. Even at that young age, he was well aware that magic wasn't real, that God couldn't really exist. Nadir spoke again, though, and he quickly listened with interest, forgetting his anger with his mother's ignorance.

"No. Not a curse." Nadir was attempting to be patient. "I…I don't really have enough information to say. Maybe something in the air. Or something in the water…the food supply. I truly don't know."

"But how would it get there?" she asked with panic. "Who would do a thing like that?"

He had quickly peeked behind the wall and watched as Nadir placed a hand on his mother's shoulder in a gesture of comfort. She had momentarily leaned against him. "I do not know, Maddy. But I am going to attempt to find out something. I could be wrong, but it's worth taking a look."

"What good would it do even if you did find something? It really can't help me now."

"Well," began Nadir. "First, it might stop others from falling to the same fate. Secondly, maybe something could be done for your son." _He_ felt his shoulders tense at Mr. Khan's words. "Maybe there is a surgery of some type or other medical procedure that someone would pay for."

His mother had laughed. He hated that particular laugh, a feminine giggle that was also full of bitter spite. "I do not think that the best surgeons in the world could repair that mess. It is hopeless."

"Well, Madeleine," Mr. Khan wearily stated. "All one can do is try."

"Yes," she whispered. "I guess so." She had then proceeded to embrace him. Mr. Khan had held her for a few moments, told her that everything would be fine in time.

_He _had felt an unfamiliar rage at that moment. He felt hatred towards whomever or whatever had done this to him, hatred towards his mother for her words, and hatred towards himself for being the source of everyone's misery. At that moment, he had wished to wrap his hands around something and squeeze the life out of it, to make something else suffer. Of course, at that age, he had been forced to quickly quash the feeling and return to his bedroom. The rage had faded, leaving behind the normal calm indifference that he usually felt. Before the continuous hatred had consumed his life, only music was able to evoke any emotion from him.

Music. And now her.

For the most part, he attempted to keep his mind away from the past. Truthfully, his childhood memories were tame compared to the rest of his life. Although his mother had hated and feared him, she had never been physically abusive or even dangerously neglectful. He had survived for nearly a decade beneath her roof, hadn't he? He had always been fed and clothed. No. The true nightmares came much later, and so he forced himself to think no further.

He would save those thoughts for when it was time to maim and kill Frederick Oliver.

About six evenings into his stay at the motel, he was sitting at the desk and writing down a sequence of notes that he thought would make an appropriate addition to his masterpiece. Only a single lamp lit the room, and all was quiet outside. He was feeling unusually content and planned to go out later with the violin to test the new measures of music. Occasionally, it would sound different in his mind than it did on the instrument.

At exactly eight p.m., there was a soft knock at the door. His head jerked up, and he immediately wrapped his hand around the lasso. A maid had once pounded on his door during the second day of his stay, only to be told by another worker that Room 224 was not supposed to be cleaned. The woman had immediately left. That incident had occurred during the morning, though. No one had any reason to come at night.

He was maskless and without his suit jacket. Occasionally, he had found it ideal to fight with his face on display. The sight had sickened his opponent long enough for him to easily strike.

Another knock.

He cast a seething glare to the door and slowly arose from the chair. Had someone finally discovered his location? He could see no flashing lights outside. His fingers curled around the weapon.

"Erik?" asked a very hushed voice from outside.

He froze again, only this time in slight shock. It was her. She was here! He snatched his mask from the table and tightened the strings to an almost uncomfortable level around his head. He threw on the jacket over his white shirt. The last thing he needed was her seeing the burns and scars that covered his arms. There was not one part of him left unmarred by his life, save for perhaps his hands.

Once everything was in place, he abruptly opened the door. She looked up at him with obvious surprise, dressed in a heavy winter coat and white gloves. Her face was red from the cold, and her eyes were tired. She was perfectly lovely. "You are here," she softly stated. "I was afraid that you had…"

"Come inside, Christine," he quickly commanded, glancing around once to ensure that there were no onlookers. He ushered her into the room and shut the door, and she jumped slightly at the noise. He attempted to remain calm and avoid frightening her. If she knew what had been on his mind for the last few days, she would have turned around and fled. "I misheard your words," he stated. "I had believed you to be absent for at least a week."

"No," she replied. "Well, I was going to be. But I…I came back a little early. Last night, actually." She looked around the room for a moment, likely curious as to what he had been doing. Her eyes briefly fell upon the violin, and he swore that a small smile formed upon her lips.

"I see." _You must have disappointed your boy._ He took undeniable pleasure from the thought that she was here and not with de Chagny. "You may sit down, if you wish. It is really your room."

"It was comfortable?" she enquired. "No one came in?"

"All was fine. I…" He was not accustomed to gratitude. "You should not have done this, Christine. It was very unnecessary."

She slowly sat down across from the place where he had been working, placing her hands together in her lap and keeping her gaze downward. "I wanted to," she softly stated. "I wanted you to stay here. And you did. Thank you."

He stiffly nodded and chose to let the matter rest, for he could not deny that his time there had been anything short of pleasant. After removing his red scribbles from the desktop, he took a seat across from her. His eyes never left her, and he immediately sensed that she was nervous about something. The precious girl was not adept at concealing her emotions. "Why did you choose to return early? Is today not a holiday in this country?"

"Yes. It is. But it doesn't really matter, I guess." She looked up at him with uncertainty. "I found out some things. I thought that you should know as soon as possible."

He was genuinely surprised by this, for he had expected her search to be fruitless. The only motive that he had for waiting there was to see her again, to hear her voice once more. He had never expected her to find anything of use. "What did you discover, Christine?" he gently asked.

Her next words almost brought him out of the chair. "Someone called while I was alone. It was kind of a coincidence. But…his name was Frederick Oliver."

His blood sizzled, and his hands clenched. "Frederick Oliver called _your_ house?" he questioned, unable to hide the utter hatred in his voice. She shrank back a little, and he forced himself to calm down. "I am not angry with you, Christine. Not with you. But it is imperative that you explain to me how that man obtained your number." She was silent, and he could tell that she was thinking something over. His patience on this matter was very limited. "Christine. Explain this to me."

"I don't know," she whispered.

_"You do not know?"_ He figured it out within an instant, though. She was protecting someone! "It was the boy's house, wasn't it? That was where you received the phone call."

From the disturbed look that entered her blue eyes, he knew that he was correct. She leaned forward and frantically spoke. "Yes, Erik. But…but I promise that Raoul doesn't know anything. He doesn't even want to know anything."

"Oh yes!" he retorted with more anger than he had intended on using. The topic was one of the few with which he had limited sanity. "I am sure they are discussing business matters, no? Like father, like son. Yes! It is all harmless business." He was practically spitting the words out.

"No," she stated. "I don't completely know what they're doing. But Raoul doesn't know anything! I promise! I asked him."

He despised how she defended him. It was as though she were defending Oliver as well, as though _he_ were truly fighting this battle alone. And perhaps he was. He would always be alone. He wished that the subject of de Chagny had never been brought up, as a sickening sensation was beginning to eat at him. She was still staring at him, wanting reassurance for that damned boy. "I will not travel hundreds of miles to harm your fiancé," he stated with clear coldness, his breath almost ragged. "It would not be worth my time. Your boy is of little use to me." _Does that make you happy, Christine? Only to make you happy. _

She looked as though she were going to say something of consequence, but her lips closed. Instead, Christine murmured a thank you. She was still hiding something from him, and he was beginning to tire of this game. The conversation reminded him of the cold facts that he had forgotten, had snapped him away from his brief fantasies. "Christine? What do you keep from me? What else does the boy know?"

"Nothing!" she desperately exclaimed.

He was growing angry. It was not blind rage, either. This anger was painful. "Christine. Do not make me pry it from your mind. Does he know I live? Is he plotting with Oliver?" _She would rather protect that boy than save me from death. _

"No, Erik," she miserably stated. "It's just…." She was about to cry, and he suddenly hated himself. He was only capable of bringing misery. Even to her. He should have left long ago. This would amount to nothing.

"Forget the matter," he wearily commanded. "Forgive me. Your loyalties are your own." He paused. "But I cannot use your information to my benefit…not when you conceal facts, and not when I do not know which words are true. You cannot play both sides, Christine, no matter what you may believe. Perhaps it is time that I…"

"Erik," she softly interrupted. Her voice was slightly calmer. "It's just that...the only reason that you didn't hurt him before…was because of me." He did not deny that. Her gaze drifted downward. "We're not engaged anymore. But please…_please_ don't hurt him now. He's still my friend. I don't want anything to happen to him. And I promise that he doesn't know anything."

She was completely unaware of the weight of her words, was simply trying to prevent more violence. The lamp cast her in a soft, yellow glow. An odd feeling settled over him. "You will not wed him?" he enquired in a hollow voice.

"No," she whispered. "I couldn't..." She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, gathering her composure. After a brief silence, she attempted to place the conversation on its proper course. "I came back early because I found out some things on the phone. I hope that they can help you."

He didn't want to hear about Oliver at that moment. Any information would not even register in his mind. "For this evening," he slowly began, "let us forget those matters. Tomorrow, you may tell me what you learned. I have no doubt that it is valuable. But not tonight. Not tonight."

She appeared slightly surprised by his request but nodded. "All right, Erik," she softly replied. "I'm probably too tired to explain it now, anyway." Christine looked up at him, still unaware. "Do you…want me to go now?"

"No!" he exclaimed. He quickly quieted his voice. "No. Stay." He abruptly stood and turned away from her for a moment. "I planned to go out tonight. It is necessary for me to clear my head, you see." He paused. "You will take a short ride with me this evening? Around the city?" _If you do not agree to come, I may die._

"Yes," she replied after a moment. His shoulders relaxed. "I will." Her tone became lighter. "Maybe…maybe some of the Christmas lights are already up."

"Yes," he clipped. "The lights. We will see them. Whatever you wish, Christine. Whatever you wish."


	31. Guessing Games

Wow! I'm glad that everyone liked that chapter so much :D Chapter 33 may end up being the end of Part 2 instead of Chapter 32. I didn't want to rush anything. Anyway, I hope you enjoy!

Also…

I have an idea for a short Christmas phic in my head, something probably semi-fluffy for the holidays :) My question to you guys is: Would you rather have an extension of "Of Threnodies and Roses," or would you rather that I write something that was actually Leroux-based? If I did the extension, there would probably be more romance and less angst. E/C would already be together in that. The Leroux one might be more interesting, though, and maybe more satisfying on some levels. Feel free to give opinions!

**Read and Review!!!**

Christine squinted in the dim parking lot lights as she walked beside Erik to the awaiting vehicle, feeling as though everything were quickly flashing by her. There had been such an explosion of emotions in the previous conversation that she was only beginning to understand the meaning behind all of the words.

Really, the last few days had passed by in a blur, her mind always occupied with one task or another. She'd did as she'd wanted back in the suburbs of Chicago, including buying a new cellular phone plan and cleaning out more stacks of papers from her father's home. She'd gotten a good sum of the remaining money from a family bank account, knowing that it would soon be time to begin looking for a job. Finally, Christine had stopped by her father's grave on the morning before she left, asking him to please watch over her during these confusing times. She'd brought flowers, but the wind had blown off most of the violet petals by the time that she'd arrived at the headstone. Once everything was gathered together, she'd arranged to come back early. There was no reason to stay at that small house by herself, staring at faded paintings and worn furniture that brought back old memories.

The flight back to the city was smooth and uneventful. Needing some time to collect herself and knowing that the dorms wouldn't be opened for several more days, Christine had rented a room at an inexpensive hotel. She needed a night to plan what to tell Erik and was afraid that she was going to say the wrong thing and anger or upset him. The phone conversation would definitely be worth revealing, although she would certainly leave out Mr. Oliver's cruel description of Erik's face. Ever since that discovery, curiosity fought with fear and sympathy. A part of her now wanted to see beneath the mask, to somehow prove to herself that it wasn't as terrible as Frederick made it out to be. Another part was afraid that she wouldn't be able to look, which would result in nothing but pain for both of them.

She was also very hesitant to show Erik the note. Because it alluded to his dismal past, he wouldn't want her to have it. He was likely already aware of the information contained in the letter. In fact, it was probably part of the reason that he was on this spree of vengeance. Erik would tear the letter into pieces, and it was currently her only glimpse into the past.

After hours of lounging around the hotel room and sorting her thoughts, she finally became tired of being alone. The following evening, she'd brushed her anxiety aside and taken another cab to the motel where Erik was staying. The night was especially cold, and she'd practically run up the stairs and to the door, praying that Gavin hadn't been mistaken about the lights inside.

She'd knocked on the door with a trembling hand. When he hadn't answered, she'd feared that he wasn't there. A nauseating weight had settled on her chest. _What if he had left?_ After all the pain and confusion of the last few days, she would likely break down crying. Erik had answered after the second knock, though, obviously surprised to see her back this early. Relief had swept over her at the sight of those strange yellow eyes, and she'd gratefully entered the warm room.

She could tell that he'd been playing the violin; there were even scribbles of musical notes on the table written in bright red ink. The food appeared as though it had at least been rummaged through. He had lived as she'd wanted him to. For once, something had gone as planned, and she felt a momentary sense of calmness.

Of course, all peace had vanished when the subject of Frederick Oliver had come up. Had she known that the name would enrage Erik so severely, she might have handled the conversation differently. The burning hatred in his eyes was frightening, and she almost feared that he would go after Raoul again. Now that they were unengaged, she wasn't sure whether her friend was safe from Erik's long-held wrath. And then, after an almost violent conversation, the mood had suddenly changed. Erik had wanted to push all matters of the past aside and go for a nighttime ride with her. Now, as she climbed into the warm back seat of the vehicle, she attempted to find some sort of clarity.

This car was smaller than the previous one, and the midnight blue seats did not face each other. After informing the driver of their destination through an intercom, Erik climbed in beside her with the violin case in hand, and they momentarily sat in silence as the vehicle pulled forward. Under the warmth of the heaters, she removed her white gloves. Erik immediately looked toward her hands, and Christine knew that he was ensuring that the ring was gone. The yellow eyes flickered like candles, before remaining at a steady glow.

The streets were empty, and most of the businesses were closed, save for the occasional pub or convenient store. Homes were lit up, though, their occupants likely lying immobile upon their sofas after gigantic feasts. "You are missing your holiday?" Erik softly questioned, watching her as she stared out the window.

She turned to look at him and slightly shrugged. "No. Well, maybe a little. But it's just food, I guess. It doesn't really matter."

"Yes," he replied, his gaze permanently fixed upon her. "I was never fond of holidays. But I expect that you would be."

Christine settled back into the plush seat, attempting to let go of some of her anxiety. "I liked them more when I was younger. With my father. Now…I don't care as much, I guess."

"You greatly miss him?" He sounded genuinely interested. Erik had rarely enquired into anything outside of matters concerning her voice.

She nodded and glanced down. "He was the one who introduced me to music when I was younger. I do miss him."

"Yes," Erik gently agreed. "He recognized your talent from the beginning, no doubt. He would be pleased with the results of your efforts, Christine. Very pleased."

"I hope so." She shook her head and frowned, feeling a tugging at her heart. "He shouldn't have died, though. I…Never mind. It doesn't matter now."

"He was ill?"

"Yes." She swallowed. "He had lung cancer. But…he never smoked." She always got the feeling that people naturally assumed cigarettes to be the cause. "The building that he worked in had asbestos."

Something odd flickered within Erik's eyes. "And his company knew of this?"

Christine nodded. "There was a lawsuit afterwards. I couldn't understand most of it, but not much was done. It was all kind of a mess."

"I see," he gravely stated. "Yes. Many will always prey off the ignorance of others. Your father was one of many casualties at the hands of such greed. And most who suffer will never be avenged. Most…but not all." She nodded again and looked down at her hands, wanting to ask questions but not sure where to begin. Perhaps he could sense her building curiosity or melancholy mood, for he quickly changed the subject. "Your lights do not appear to be up, Christine. That is a shame."

She glanced out the window. "Yeah. I guess not. Maybe after today."

"Yes. And there are the city lights. They are always there. One could survive without daylight in the city." She suddenly noticed that his voice was different that night, as though each word held a hidden plea.

"Yes. I guess they could," she uncertainly replied. She admired the glowing signs for a moment. "It is nice to see the city at night, though. I haven't seen very much of it since I've been here."

"I see everything at night. Never during the day! I am more suited for it, no?" He chuckled. Before she could think of a response, Erik suddenly looked out the window. "Ah. We wish to stop here!" He spoke into the intercom and tucked the violin case beneath his arm.

Puzzled, she stared outside to see that they were in an isolated area, perhaps near a building complex that was closed for the holidays. Bare trees and shrubs were growing around the empty sidewalks and wooden fences. Her heart pounded nervously as the car came to a halt. Although she trusted him, there was always a degree of uncertainty.

"I wish to play for a moment," he stated, gesturing to the violin. "No one is around this area. I must play, or the music will remain in my mind, and I will not be able to think clearly. You may listen, or you may remain in the car. I realize that the cold is unpleasant to you."

"No." She unbuckled her seat belt and put her gloves back on. "I'd like to listen, if that's okay. I haven't heard you in so long."

He nodded, eyes aglow, and climbed out of the vehicle. Before she could move to follow, he had already come to her side and opened the door. She shivered as she stepped out, almost wanting to climb back inside. "Stand here, Christine." He motioned her over to a vent engraved into one of the walls. "It is a heat duct, and it will be warmer for you. I will not be long."

She sat down on a cold concrete ledge beside the vent as he tuned the instrument and then began to play, finding herself unfamiliar with the legato melody. It was certainly no classical piece that she had heard before. The instrument sounded differently in the open space, softer but echoing wider. Erik's eyes were closed. Without the glow of the yellow orbs, he was nearly invisible, just the outline of a shadow. Despite the cold, she relaxed into the music. It had put her to sleep even during one of the most terrifying times of her life, and now, the blanket of notes shielded her from the icy air.

When the melody faded into silence, she looked up and smiled. "What song was that?" she asked, her voice almost carried away by the breeze.

He lowered the violin and paused. "One of my own compositions."

Her eyes widened. "Yours? It was wonderful. I mean…you could get it published."

A wry chuckle came from behind the mask. "I do not see that ever occurring. Except perhaps post-mortem, if I do not bury it with me." He saw the disturbed glint in her eyes. "But I am glad that you enjoyed it. It has been good to play again. Any requests of me?"

"_The Swan_?" she softly asked.

"Ah. _Le Cygne_. You did enjoy that, didn't you?" Putting the violin to his chin, he played the familiar melody. Even sitting in the dark on top of cold cement, she felt oddly at peace. The sound was simply so flawless and smooth. He played several more pieces after that, variations of other classical compositions. Gathering her knees up to her chin, she just listened, almost forgetting her problems and worries of earlier, drifting into a blissful haze.

He finally lowered the instrument and looked down upon her. "That is enough for tonight," he stated. "You will get frostbite."

Awakened from her stupor, she realized that her cheeks and nose were nearly numb. Erik came to stand in front of her. His hand came slightly forward, as if he meant to offer it to her. Before he could draw it away, she reached up in acknowledgement of the gesture. He took her hand, and she arose to stand beside him. Erik held on a moment longer than necessary, before quickly releasing his grip.

"Are there words to the first song?" she asked. He was walking right beside her, his head tilted down.

"No, Christine. Only music."

"Oh. It was still beautiful."

"It is merely a reflection of its subject."

Christine looked up curiously, but he said nothing more as they returned to the idle vehicle. She felt calmer than before as she climbed inside, content and no longer as anxious. If the world had consisted of nothing but music, she imagined that both of their lives would have been simpler. His next words were almost disappointing.

"Where are you staying this night, Christine?" he asked. "It is late. I will take you wherever you wish."

She looked up. "A hotel. It's about twenty minutes from here."

"Another room? I will reimburse you for these expenses soon. You will not become a pauper because of me."

"Oh! It's fine, Erik. I have enough money for now. I'm…I'm fine."

"We will make arrangements later." He pushed the matter aside. "And you will turn tomorrow? We may talk of your findings then. If you return to...see me."

"Yes," she gently answered. "I'll be there."

"Come as early as you wish. Even at dawn. I do not go out during the daytime. Just be certain that you are not noticed."

"I will. I'll come over early." A yawn of exhaustion emerged from her lips. She gave instructions to the driver for where she was staying and then settled back into the seat again. Erik continued to watch her. "Maybe," she began, trying to gather her confidence. "Maybe we can go out at night again. They'll start putting the decorations up after Thanksgiving."

"Yes!" he quickly agreed, like a child promised a reward. "We will do that."

When the car reached the front of her hotel, she sat there for a moment, slightly reluctant to leave despite her exhaustion. A moment of silence passed, and Christine started to tell him goodbye. Erik suddenly gripped onto her idle left hand, and she whirled to face him in surprise. "He did not appreciate your voice…your music," he spontaneously stated, his eyes burning brightly. His thumb gently ran over the back of her hand. "And that is why he could _never_ have you."

She blinked in confusion, only slowly understanding that he was referring to Raoul. "I…I guess so," she replied, not knowing how else to respond.

"Yes. That is why. That is why you parted with him." It was as though this were some grand revelation to Erik, or perhaps he feared that she regretted her decision. The entire night had been built on her broken engagement.

Christine nodded and gently squeezed his bony fingers. "Goodnight, Erik," she softly stated. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Sleep well, Christine." He finally released her hand and drew back.

The car did not leave until after she had walked into the lobby. She understood now; maybe she had known since her last frightening night at the house by the graveyard. It was just difficult to take in, that he truly did care so much for her. A curious tear streamed down her cheek, and Christine quickly wiped it away. The only thing that she could admit to herself at that moment was that it was going to hurt when he left her. It was going to sting horribly.

After he departed, she would be watching the news for developments in England and Spain. She was going to hear one of two things. Either more would die at Erik's hands over truths that she was just beginning to learn, or…or he would be killed.

It was with only the hints of a guilty conscience that she already knew which news would be more devastating. And so tomorrow, she would tell him everything that she knew to keep him unharmed.

There was something else that she could do to keep him alive, something else that she could give him. The thought had just come to her on that night. It was frightening, though. There was so much she didn't know, so much that she didn't understand about him…or even herself. She desperately wanted more time, but time was something that she simply didn't have. Her hands were shaking as she put the key card into the slot. The door clicked open.

She could give him hope.

* * *

With every day that passed, Nadir grew more and more certain that Erik was no longer a part of this world. Perhaps he had just lain down and died once everything had fallen to pieces. To most people, Erik would seem invincible, but Nadir knew that there were occasions when he grew dangerously tired of living. And what would possibly keep him away this long besides death? 

Despite Nadir's attempts to repress them, memories of his final months in France began to clutter his head. Finally, he just allowed the thoughts to flow through his mind, hoping that one day they would reach a conclusion.

He remembered beginning his search for answers to his questions, very unaware of just how dangerous the situation would become. He had first looked for the doctor who had diagnosed Erik with the sunlight allergy but was unsuccessful. The physician either didn't exist or had left the country. Nadir studied the vegetation closely for any signs of decay, remembering Hamideh's claim that her flowers were dying. There were patches of brown grass scattered about the area and a few wilted trees, but they could have just been acts of nature.

He again attempted to listen to the conversations of the locals, finding that many of the remaining residents were elderly and sickly, far beyond their child-rearing years. Few children were around, and it seemed that many of the younger couples had moved to urban areas. Sometimes Nadir considered giving up, but there was the occasional conversation that drew his interest. He overheard a scruffy young man, maybe around the age of eighteen, talking outside of a gas station.

"Yeah," he was groggily explaining to another man, holding a bottle of alcohol in one hand. "Florence is on life support. The baby was dead before it came out. It was a damn mess." His companion just shook his head in empathy.

Nadir quickly walked over from his car. "Excuse me," he began. "I am sorry to interrupt, but who are you referring to? Who is ill?"

The man looked him over, appearing slightly intoxicated. "Huh? Oh. My sisters. Neither one can have kids."

He'd asked the young man a few more questions about the timing of their illness but received little information. After giving his condolences, Nadir quickly departed. He would later discover that the man's name was Joseph Buquet.

It wasn't some great epiphany that finally led Nadir to _Falcon_, or _Faucon_ in France. On one of his drives that he often took to clear his mind, Mr. Khan had just stopped by the industrial complex to take a closer look. It almost blended in with its surroundings, a grayish building surrounded by green grass and concrete sidewalks. Men dressed in both suits and ties and worker's uniforms occasionally passed. Yards away from the building were some cheap apartment complexes and mobile homes, which he guessed housed the immigrant males that were mostly rumored to work there.

Climbing out of his car, Nadir walked up to the chain link fence to take a closer look. A faint but odd odor hung in the air, and the atmosphere was very quiet. As a dark-skinned man in a blue jumpsuit passed with a broom in hand, Nadir turned to him. "Excuse me," he began, clearing his throat. "Just out of curiosity, what is manufactured here?"

The man glanced up and frowned. "I do not know," he irritably replied, his voice tinged with a heavy Slavic accent.

"Is there someone I could speak to?" he asked. "A front office?"

The employee shrugged. "I do not know."

With a sigh, Nadir allowed the man to pass, doubting that he could even understand the language. He had stared at the enormous, semicircle-shaped building for a moment longer, before turning around and leaving. Following a gut instinct, he had gone home and made a string of phone calls to the administrative offices, attempting to make an appointment to speak with someone at the top. Preoccupied with his search, he couldn't even find much time to visit Madeleine and Erik.

Finally, he had set up a telephone conversation with one of the upper level managers, telling a little lie to convince them that he was doing a study on industry in the area. The phone rang twice one summer afternoon, and he had eagerly picked it up. He still remembered that short and strange exchange.

"Mr. Khan?" asked a deep voice.

"Yes?"

"My name is Lucas Morel. I'm calling from Falcon Industries at your request."

"Yes!" he exclaimed. "Thank you for your time. I just had a few questions for my study."

"Go on." His voice had a strange tone.

"Well…" He quickly gathered himself together, hoping he didn't sound like an idiot. "You have been around for a decade?"

"Twelve years in this area. We are situated throughout all of Europe, though. And we have several offices in the United States." The man's voice reeked of superiority.

"I see. And what do you manufacture?"

The man had chuckled. "What don't we make here? Plastics, glues, solvents, rubbers, metal alloys…About everything you see on a daily basis comes from our processes, Mr. Khan. That is why our company requires such a great deal of space. This area was perfect for us."

"Yes. Of course," he hesitantly replied.

"Do you have a problem you want resolved? My associates seem to think you have a concern with the way you've been constantly calling."

"Well…I…" He took a breath. "You see, there are some problems in the area. With births. Some women are becoming ill. I am just doing a little research. That is all."

"I see," replied Morel. "Surely you're not accusing anyone…."

"No!" quickly answered Nadir, beginning to feel a little queasy. "I am just looking around. It may be nothing."

"I see," he muttered. "Have a good day, Mr. Khan."

"Thank you. You, too." He had hung up with a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach. Nadir attempted to push the matter from his mind and decided to take a day off from investigating. Maybe Morel just thought that he was jumping to conclusions. Maybe he _was _just being paranoid, searching for problems that didn't exist. _Yes. He was just being paranoid. _

He went over to Maddy's house the following evening, and she greeted him warmly, likely thankful to take a break from her son. He didn't even bother telling her about his discoveries, not when everything was still based on speculation. Erik also looked somewhat relieved to see him, immediately coming down the stairs and meeting him at the door.

"Is all going well?" he asked, after Madeleine had locked herself in the kitchen. "What have you been doing lately?"

"Just music," Erik sharply answered. "That is what I do. She will not let me out. Because of this." He gestured to his face.

Nadir sighed. "I see. I am sorry, Erik. I will attempt to speak with her again."

The boy had paused. "Would people really die at the sight of me? Mother says so. But you did not die when you saw me. Will females die, then?"

"No. No one would die," he quickly replied. "That is nonsense."

"I thought so! Then what would they do?"

Nadir had hesitated and rubbed the back of his head, unsure of how to honestly answer the question without contributing to Erik's troubled mind. "I suppose that some would…well…understand."

Erik was too smart for euphemisms. "They would be disgusted," he stated. "Or they would pity me. Still, it is better than them dying at the sight of me, isn't it?"

Nadir just sat there with his mouth hanging open, not even able to properly answer the boy. Finally, he shook his head and stood up from the sofa. "Erik? It is darker out now. What if you were to spend some time at my house? I have books that you have never seen, some in a different language. I even have paintings from Iran. It would be a change from this house."

Erik practically jumped up from the ground, forgetting his earlier questions. "Yes. Let's go there. I am tired of being here. I hate it here!"

Nadir wearily nodded. "Let me tell your mother." He knocked on the kitchen door. "Madeleine? I am taking Erik to my home for a short time. It is dark, and no one will see him." He left little room for argument.

There was a very long pause. Several pots and pans clanged together. "You are sure it is dark enough?"

He sighed. "Yes, Maddy."

"Erik wants to go?"

"Yes. Very much. He needs to get out."

"Fine. Go."

Turning back around, Nadir could see utter relief in the yellow eyes. _If that boy does not occasionally get out of here, I fear he will burn the house down._ "Come, Erik. We'll go now. Would you like to say goodbye to your mother first?"

"No," replied Erik. "It is best to leave before she changes her mind."

Nadir tiredly shrugged and followed the boy outside.

He often wondered if Erik regretted never saying goodbye to her that night. It was the last day that he ever saw his mother alive.


	32. House of Cards

Wow. You guys were about evenly split for the Leroux story and the "Of Threnodies and Roses" extension. I think I'll write a rough draft for each and see which one comes out better. The reason that I don't do both is that they have the same underlying storyline. I can just fit it differently into either version.

This chapter is fairly tender. The following chapter will be the ending to Part 2. Thank you as always for your continuing support of this story. And Happy Thanksgiving!

**Read and Review!!!**

As promised, Christine arrived at Room 224 early the following morning, one hand clinging to the strap of her purse and the other one nervously clenched into a fist. The late autumn sun was exceedingly bright, and it felt strange to be visiting Erik at this time of the day. She almost couldn't imagine seeing him in broad daylight; his pale skin looked as though it had never met with a ray of sun. Still, she saw no reason to delay their visits until the evening when so little time remained.

When she reached the second floor of the motel and started to knock upon the door, a maid stepped out of one of the nearby storage closets. "Are you sure you don't want the room cleaned, Ma'am?" the older woman asked with a frown. "It's been about a week since you rented it. It'll just take a moment."

Christine's heart jumped, but she managed to remain calm. "No, thank you," she cordially replied. "I'm fine." The woman shrugged and moved forward with a cart of cleaning supplies.

Christine glanced up in surprise as the door to Room 224 immediately opened. She quickly dodged into the dim area, and Erik shut and locked the door behind her. "They will begin to suspect something soon," he softly stated, as she adjusted to the lack of lighting. His eyes were glowing down upon her, shining with something that she didn't dare name.

"It's probably good that they saw me here today," she replied. "At least they think that they know who's staying here." She managed a nervous smile.

Erik nodded and motioned for her to take a seat at the table. "You came early."

"Yes. I wanted to." She sat down and folded her hands together in her lap. "Not too early, though?"

"No. Of course not. I did not sleep. I rarely do, you see. I merely waited for your arrival."

"Oh. Thank you." She looked up at him, wondering for a moment what his facial expressions were like. _Did he ever smile? Was he even able to? _

"Did you enjoy our ride last night?" he eagerly enquired, taking a seat across from her and leaning forward. "It was not eventful, I know. But perhaps it was good for clearing the mind. "

"Yes! I really did. It was great to hear you play the violin again."

"Excellent, then. I will take you out again at some point, if you wish."

She imagined that he was smiling. "Yes. Or I…I'd also love to hear you sing."

Erik drew away from her, his hands forming into fists. "I would not take your mind from you unless you were in need of escaping reality, unless you were in severe discomfort. Are you unhappy, Christine? Do you wish not to be here?" His voice sounded strained.

"What? No! Not at all. I just…The way you sang was amazing. I miss it. But I'm not unhappy, Erik." She couldn't understand his assumptions sometimes. His mind jumped so quickly from one place to another that she wondered if she wasn't intelligent enough to keep with him. Or perhaps he was the one who was so utterly confused.

He was silent for a moment. "Perhaps…perhaps I will sing at another time. But not now. Not now." He placed a hand to his masked forehead and leaned into his skeletal fingers, massaging his temples. "You had information for me?" he softly asked, looking up again.

She nodded and sat up straight, praying that this conversation wouldn't end up with the rage of the previous one. "Yes. A couple of things."

"Continue."

"First, Nadir is in a prison called Belmarsh. I think it's really high security."

Erik slowly nodded, thoughfully refolding his bony hands atop the table. "That was one of the three locations that I suspected, if they had kept him in the country. Still, the information will save me searching time. Time is always valuable."

"That's good," she softly replied, feeling as though she had contributed a little. "Also…Frederick Oliver…" An angry glimmer returned to his eyes, but he didn't otherwise react. "He's in Spain, I think. Somewhere nice..." She thought back. "By the Mediterranean. That's what he said."

"Living luxuriously, no doubt," coldly replied Erik. She could tell that he was struggling to keep calm. "And what else did he have to say to you?"

She bit her lip. "I think he might know that you're alive. Raoul doesn't know. But…just by the way he was talking, I think that Frederick does."

"That does not come as a surprise," he stated with continuing calmness. "He was likely able to quickly identify my so-called corpse." Christine shuddered. "And was met with quite the disappointment, I imagine!" he dramatically finished, gesturing to himself.

She managed a choked laugh, feeling a little queasy on the inside. _What if that had been Erik's body?_ "What else did Oliver have to say to you?" he enquired, breaking into her unpleasant thoughts.

Christine quickly averted her eyes. "Not very much. He talked about his niece a little. Carlotta."

"My dear," he softly began. "Please do not feel you have to spare me any details. Do not attempt to lie to me; you will never succeed. Now surely Frederick Oliver had more to say of his dear friend, Erik," he hissed.

"Yes," she finally whispered. "He did. But I didn't believe him."

"Why? What did he tell you?"

"He said that you had no reason for doing…all of this." She paused. "But I think that you do. I don't understand everything yet, but I…" Christine slowly reached into one of the pockets of her purse and removed the folded letter. "There's this. I found it in one of Raoul's father's file cabinets. Raoul didn't even know that it was there."

He cast a glare toward the paper, before quickly taking the letter from her and opening it. As she watched him grip the paper, nearly poking holes into the note with his tight hold, Christine knew that she would never get it back. She remembered the words…_Are we really going to let one ugly little boy ruin everything?...Honestly, if my wife gave birth to that, I would have done away with it for its own sake… _She felt like grabbing the letter back and sparing him.

Erik read it in one-fourth of the time that it had taken her to do so. Half-crumpling and half-folding the letter, he stuffed it into the pocket of his jacket. "It is nothing I did not know," he stated with eerie calmness. "It is really nothing of importance. Nothing at all. It is nothing."

"Erik," she gently began, reaching out a hand across the table. "It was so horrible. I can't believe that anyone would…"

"Do not." He silenced her. "I do not want that from you."

"I'm sorry," she whispered, feeling tears in her eyes. "I just…is there anything I can do to help?"

"No, Christine," he replied. "You have done more than I might have imagined. And it is best if you go no deeper into this."

"But I can…."

"No!" he snapped. "Do you want to arise each morning knowing that your actions are the cause of deaths? Because that is all it is, Christine. Just endless death. One after the other. I am made of death from head to toe, you see!" He finally took her offered hand and squeezed it to just below the point of discomfort. His skin was so very cold. "But you are not. You are young and alive, aren't you? And you must stay alive."

"Erik. You're not-"

"No," he interrupted her for the third time, his voice hoarse. "Let us not think on it anymore. There is little time left for us, and I…I have a deck of cards. Would you like to see magic? It is so much more pleasant than all of this. Let me show you some tricks."

She softly sighed but nodded, watching as he produced the deck. The backs of the cards were decorated with colorful little insects: butterflies, grasshoppers, beetles, and spiders. A part of her wanted to demand that he not change the subject, that he allow her to know all these strange secrets, that he permit her to help him. Still, she kept quiet. His eyes had a strange quality to them as he expertly shuffled through the cards, a look of desperation, as though he were attempting to fix something that was broken. He didn't want her to know the past; he wanted her for the present.

He suddenly made the deck disappear with a flick of his wrist, chuckling softly as the cards appeared in the palm of his opposite hand. "Oh," she murmured, feeling almost dizzy. There was a franticness to his movements that made it difficult for her to focus her eyes. He spread the cards out before her, all of them turned over.

"There. Just pick one, Christine. Any one." She slowly did so. "Yes. There you go. Now look at it." She turned it over and nodded. "It is the six of spades, no?"

"Yes," she softly replied. "It is." She forced a smile, still feeling a little uneasy. "How did you do that? And make them disappear?"

Erik chuckled again, brushing her fingers with his own as he took the card back. "Oh. I could never tell you that, my dear. Never! It is magic, after all! Let us continue now." She suddenly realized that he was battling to stay in the present, to stay with her in this room. The letter had brought him dangerously close to a state of mind that she had last glimpsed at the house by the graveyard. And so she played along in this fight for sanity, obediently drawing cards and making guesses, watching as he shuffled and dealt.

Finally, she drew a card at his command and waited, looking down at an ace of diamonds.

"You are holding an ace of spades." Her lips parted, and he could immediately tell by her expression that he was wrong. "No?" Erik's hands hovered in the air. She swallowed and shook her head. His eyes flared. "This is foolishness!" he growled, suddenly knocking all the cards off the tabletop with a violent sweep of his arm.

"Erik!" She drew back in shock. They fluttered into the air, before scattering onto the carpeted floor, a collage of red and black shapes, of blue beetles and monarch butterflies. The king of hearts and three of diamonds landed face up beside her tennis shoes.

Momentarily stunned, Christine started to get down from the chair and pick them up. "No. No! No!" he protested, putting a hand out. She drew back again, eyes wide. "You do not need to pick them up. You do not need to! Do not, Christine!" Before she could blink, he had gotten to his knees upon the floor and was quickly scooping the cards into his pale hands. She sat frozen in the chair above him, unsure of whether to help or obediently stay put. Or to run away. Breathing heavily, he crawled along the floor, moving to collect the ones that had fallen at her feet. He paused.

Suddenly, as she continued to sit there staring downward in bewilderment, Erik bent forward and rested his masked forehead against her knee. Her arms rose up. "Erik?" she softly asked, feeling her heart slowly calm down. She felt as though she'd just run a race. "What's wrong? I…I liked the card tricks." He didn't reply, one of his hands lightly gripping onto the lower part of her pants leg. His shoulders were heaving.

She swallowed, before slowing bringing her hand down and touching the back of his head. The dark hair was soft and wispy, almost like an infant's. There was not nearly enough to cover his entire skull, and so the top of his pale head was revealed, shining slightly in the dim lighting. As she moved her hand down, Christine could feel the tiny strings that held on the mask beneath her fingertips. One small tug and…

No. She couldn't do that now, not when he was like this. Her fingers went past the strings. "Erik? What's wrong?" Still, he didn't answer her. He seemed content to just rest against her knee for a moment, his shoulders relaxing and his breathing quieter. The room became silent, save for the soft hum of the heater. She continued to stroke the back of his head, ignoring the mask strings altogether. "It's all right," she murmured, wishing she could say something more meaningful. "It'll be fine."

After several minutes had passed, he tilted his head to the side and spoke, nearly inaudibly. "Could you ever?"

"Could I ever what, Erik?"

He was still gripping onto her loose pants leg. "If you did, I would ask nothing. I would stay at your feet. Because…but no. It is almost time to go, isn't it?" Erik released his grip on the khaki material and stared up at her with those two glowing orbs. He was so close that she could just barely see the outlines of his face behind the eyeholes. She could tell that his eyeballs were pushed abnormally deep into their sockets. The mask seemed looser on one side than the other, as though the flesh on his face were uneven. With a shaking hand, she started to reach out and touch the shining porcelain. He immediately stood up from the ground, setting the perfectly stacked pile of cards upon the table and turning away from her.

"Erik." She stood as well. "I don't understand. What…what do you want me to do? Can I help?"

"Nothing," he whispered. "You are very kind not to run away from this nightmare. Forgive me." He exhaled. "There are several cargo ships that sail to Europe soon. I have what I need now. I suppose it will be time for me to make my departure."

She frowned, feeling her throat close up. "I know," she stated after a long moment. "I know that you have to go…"

"Yes. You are ready for me to leave, no doubt. I have interfered long enough."

"No," she protested, daring to interrupt before he again twisted her words into something ugly. "I just know you have to find Nadir. But Erik…"

"Yes, Christine?"

"When you're done…when you've gotten Nadir out, you could come back." She touched his shoulder with the tips of her fingers. "No matter what happens there, please come back."

He immediately turned to face her. "Why?" If he was capable of forming facial expressions, she imagined him to be gaping at her now. She could feel her own heart hammering.

"Because…" She swallowed, knowing that what she said at this moment might set her life on a strange course. These were not promises that could be broken. It was dangerous to be someone's hope, was like being the sole rescuer of a drowning person, so easy to be pulled down with them into the suffocating darkness. And yet, if it meant saving someone you so deeply cared about…

She answered as honestly as she was able. "Because I'll be waiting here for you."

* * *

Nadir was lying in the prison cot and staring up at the concrete ceiling as the memories of that fateful night returned to him. These thoughts would give him some blessed closure, as the events had ended one part of his life. In some ways, they had also marked the ending of any childhood that Erik ever had. One can no longer be considered a child after they have brushed fingers with death, particularly the death of a parent. 

For several hours that evening, he and Erik had made themselves comfortable inside of his small house. Now that he was out of captivity, Erik had shown an interest in almost everything, even wanting to look under the hood of Nadir's old car. Mr. Khan had shown him the engine and explained in detail how all of the parts worked together. When they had arrived at the house, Erik had spent some time admiring the Persian rugs and artwork, before pulling a book of Middle Eastern history off the shelf, one with photographs of artifacts and watercolor illustrations. Nadir made himself a cup of herbal tea and wearily sat down upon the couch, watching the boy browse the book with intense interest. "They were very brutal, weren't they," Erik stated, trailing his pale hands over the illustrations of war and upheaval. "They blinded people often. And sliced off their limbs."

"I imagine that every culture has some brutality in it," replied Nadir.

"Yes," Erik agreed. "I have read much medieval history. It is my favorite period of time. There is the breaking wheel. And the rack. And in Ancient Greece, they created the brazen bull. They would roast the prisoner alive within the device. And when he screamed inside, different tubes made the noise sound like the cry of an angry ox." He looked back down and continued reading. Nadir shifted on the couch.

"The females dress differently," Erik soon commented.

"Yes," murmured Nadir, as Hamideh's face briefly flashed into his mind. "They are very beautiful, no?"

"Why do some cover their faces?"

"Modesty," he replied. "It is an important value within the culture."

Erik had chuckled, a bit of bitterness entwined into the boyish laughter. "If people ask me about my mask, I will tell them that I am too modest to show my handsome face."

They continued that way for a couple of hours: Erik's comments and questions, followed by Nadir's brief history lessons. It was about eight-thirty in the evening, as Erik drew closer to the end of the book, when Nadir thought he heard something outside. Standing up from the sofa, he walked to his front window and looked out, seeing nothing out of the ordinary in the darkness. An odd feeling settled in the pit of his stomach. "What is wrong?" enquired Erik from behind him.

"Nothing," he distractedly replied. He then heard another noise, a clattering of metal against metal. And…was that a man's voice speaking? He slowly backed up, somehow sensing that they were in danger. Maybe he had known that something was wrong since that strange phone call. "Erik. I think it is time for us to return to your house."

"But I am not finished with the book!" he protested.

"Take it with you, then. It is time to go. Now." Erik must have become aware of the genuine fear within his voice, for he forgot the book and followed Nadir toward the back door. "Please try to be quiet," Nadir commanded. He started to turn the lights off but decided against it, not wanting the intruders to know that anyone was leaving. Let them search the home to their hearts' content. "Hurry." They walked out the backdoor and into the warm night air. The car was immersed in shadows at the side of the road, and they were forced to walk down a small hill to get to it.

If Erik was truly a master of anything by that age, it was at being silent. Crouching low, they both managed to make it to the vehicle with barely a sound. Mr. Khan glanced back to his house, seeing the silhouette of someone standing by his window. Possibly two people. He prayed to Allah that they did not see him. Turning on the engine of his car, he slammed his foot onto the gas pedal and drove down the road as fast as he was able.

"What is wrong?" Erik asked, jerked backwards by the sharp movements of the car. He was likely surprised to see his normally calm mentor behaving so erratically.

"I am not sure," Nadir replied. "Someone was at the house."

"Who?"

He shook his head. "I am not sure. But I have the feeling that they meant to do us harm. We are going to hide for a bit before we return to your house, in case someone attempts to follow us." He quickly turned onto a road that was almost overgrown with weeds, one that led to an abandoned wooden farm house with a rotting picket fence. He continued until he reached a partially wooded area, hoping that his car was obscured by the heavily-leaved trees. Fortunately, the moon was not out that night, and there were no lights in the area. He and Erik sat in silence.

"Is it robbers?" enquired Erik, looking backwards curiously. His voice was calm but still contained the degree of uncertainty that any child would have. "They would have gotten what they wanted by now."

"I do not think so," Nadir replied. After almost an hour had passed, he turned on the engine, keeping the headlights off. "We're going to return to your home," he stated, attempting to keep his voice calm. "Your mother is likely worried by now."

He carefully drove the short distance, constantly searching for other automobiles or any other suspicious sights. As far as he could see, though, they were alone. Still, he kept his lights turned off. When they arrived at Erik's house, he parked behind the structure. There was a single light on inside the home, appearing to shine from the kitchen area. "Walk quickly to the door," Nadir commanded. Erik nodded, and Mr. Khan could see that the boy's hands were clenched.

Climbing out of the vehicle, they both rushed over the thick grass and to the back entrance. Nadir opened the unlocked door and walked into the dusty dining room, his heart racing. Erik followed behind and looked around, his eyes especially bright in the darkness. The house was completely silent. "Mother?" Erik enquired after a moment. He received no response. "Mother?"

Nadir swallowed. "Madeleine?" he asked into the empty house. He flipped on the light but saw no one. After glancing around, he slowly opened the door to the adjoining kitchen, continuing to see a light from inside. He blinked several times as his eyes adjusted to the brightness, noticing nothing unusual at first. "Madel-" Nadir froze as his gaze finally fell to the linoleum tiles. A cold layer of perspiration formed over his flesh, and his heart clenched. He gripped onto one of the counters to steady himself.

She was lying on her side with her eyes closed, her palms face-down upon the floor. A mixing bowl was upturned beside her, the greyish batter spilling out onto the tiles. A long, wooden spoon was situated near her right hand. There were several blood stains soaked into the front of her dress, near her heart and lungs. A pool of red had also begun to make its way out from behind her back. She had been shot at a close range, completely caught off guard. The bullets had likely gone all the way through her body, piercing holes into her organs.

"Allah help me," whispered Nadir, placing a shaking hand over his mouth as nausea overtook him. He couldn't even react as Erik came in behind him.

"Oh!" The boy softly gasped and also froze in his steps, before quickly getting down on his knees beside the body. Erik touched her slender wrist with his fingers, perhaps to find a pulse, before drawing his hand away. He touched her shoulder, her pallid face, her bluish hands. Gathering himself together, Nadir slowly knelt down as well and also searched for a pulse. There was none. Something in the back of his cluttered mind told him that they needed to leave soon. These _people_ had only found one of their targets that night; they would soon be back for the other two.

"She is very cold," Erik murmured. "As cold as me. I do not remember touching her before. Was she always so cold?"

"No," he managed to choke out. "She was not."

Erik continued to stare down at her; a mixture of shock, curiosity, and pain in the yellow eyes. It was the only time in Nadir's life that he could ever remember Erik reacting to death. "Did someone do this because of me?" he asked after a moment. "Perhaps she knew that I was not wanted outside. That is why she kept me inside. And I have done this to her by going out of the house."

"No, Erik!" he quickly replied. "It is not your fault. It is… " Nadir paused in thought, trying to figure out the next action to take. They needed to go to the police. Where were the nearest authorities? And then what? What did he have to tell them? All he had were his suspicions that someone from that infernal company was behind this. He had no actual proof!

And what of Erik? What would they do with that poor boy? Nadir had no legal rights to him. Would he end up in an orphanage? Or what if _these_ people found Erik? Then what?

Nadir suddenly knew that he was up against something enormous and dangerous. If he did not get Erik out of there, the boy would disappear off the face of the earth. And no one else would care. Mr. Khan momentarily felt helpless, before deciding that their best chance was to act as quickly as possible.

"Erik." The glowing eyes looked up at him. "I have friends in another country. It is far from here, but I believe it is best that we try to go. Do you understand? You will come with me?"

The boy was silent for a moment. "Yes," he finally stated. "We will go, then. There is nothing more here." Erik glanced back toward Madeleine.

"Erik…you may cry, if you'd like," Nadir softly stated. "She is your mother. You should not have to see this."

"I cannot cry." He touched one of the wounds, the blood especially bright red on his pale fingers. "Who did this?" he enquired, an odd tone in his voice.

Nadir hesitated, not wanting to explain, not even able to say that he might have caused this with his silly investigations. So much was still clouded in mystery. "Just very bad people. People that we need to get away from."

"You know more than you are telling me," Erik replied, still gazing down at her. "But I will ask you later." He looked down and touched her limp curls. He turned his face away from Nadir and appeared as though he were going to lift up the bottom portion of the cloth mask. Bending down, Erik brought his face close to hers, poised to kiss her forehead, before hesitating and then drawing away. "No. She would have been angry. I will not." He adjusted his mask and quickly stood up, keeping his gaze away from his mother. "We should go now."

Nadir nodded, still feeling sick inside. He wiped a stray tear from his cheek. "Yes. It is time." He had later placed an anonymous phone call to the police, not wanting the body to decay inside of the house. They had gathered what they'd wanted of their belongings. And then they had left.


	33. Before the Dawn

Well, here's the last chapter to Part 2. The next chapter will probably be up in about two or three weeks, as I need to concentrate on final exams and also want to take a try on a couple of other plot bunnies. Whether they get posted remains to be seen. As this long chapter is nothing but E/C, I hope that it will hold you over for a little while. Thank you again for all your support.

**Read and Review!!!**

_Because I'll be waiting here for you._

Christine awaited his response, anxiously wringing her hands together. If he agreed, then she would be bound to a strange promise. If he said _no_, then she would be devastated.

Erik sighed, and the yellow eyes dimmed. "Christine." His voice was tired. He reached out and touched her hair with the tips of his spidery fingers, a miserable glint in his eyes. "My dear, you do not even really know what I am."

"What do you mean?"

"Nothing."

She hesitated, before slowly going forward with caution. "Do you mean what you look like?" His shoulders visibly tensed, and she was unnerved by the sudden anger in his eyes. "Erik…" she quickly continued. "If…if you would just let me see, I would…"

"Where did you hear of such things?" he enquired, a snarl in his voice as he withdrew his hand from her. "Ah! I know! I am sure that Oliver gave you a delightful description, didn't he? Monsieur Oliver must enjoy telling horror stories to beautiful young girls. What did he tell you of my face, Christine? Eh?"

She rapidly shook her head. "It doesn't matter what he said. I didn't believe-"

"Oh! But you really should, Christine." He loomed over her. "You should believe him, my dear. It is really not something that can be exaggerated, even by Oliver. And it is best that you not convince yourself otherwise."

Christine looked at the ground. "Fine, then. But it still doesn't matter to me, Erik. I still want you to come back. And if you would just show me, then maybe…"

His cold hand suddenly gripped her wrist, and she jerked her head up to stare into two inflamed eyes. "Never," he hissed, as she drew back. "Stay away from my mask! You see, if you saw my face, it would cause you to break your promise. You certainly do not want to do that, do you?"

"My promise?" she whispered, the tone of his voice causing a shiver to run down her spine.

"One good thought, Christine. Did you not promise that to me so many months ago? And once you see my face, you will have no good thoughts left. And then you would break your promise. And then I would be free to break mine."

"Erik. I wouldn't be like that," she pled. "Nothing would change."

"No!" he snarled. She winced as his grip tightened. "You will never see my face. Ever!" He finally released her arm, a glimmer of realization entering his eyes. A sound between a sigh and moan came from behind the mask. Erik quickly stepped away from her, studying her frightened expression, before turning around. "You must want to run now," he muttered. "To escape this while you are still able." He gestured to the door. "Perhaps I would not stop you. Or perhaps I would not be able to let you leave. But you may try…And I will try…" He sat down upon the edge of the bed and stared at the floor, resting his forehead on the tips of his fingers.

Although it was technically still morning, Christine felt exhausted. If she had any urge to leave, it wasn't out of fear. She was simply frustrated from getting nowhere, from putting all her energy into keeping him alive and losing the battle, from trying to make him understand that she…"That's not fair," she softly stated, slowly walking closer to him. He glanced up at her. "You say that I can't really want you to come back because of your face. But you won't show me."

"Oh. My dear…" he began in a distant tone. He looked at the ground again. "You truly do not understand, do you? It is not a matter of choosing to come back. If I survive, then I fear nothing would keep me away. If I live, even if you wished to be rid of me, I fear that I would search the earth for you. That is why you should wish me dead," he whispered. He took her hand into his own, gently turning her wrist over. Tiny red blotches marked where he had grabbed her. "Did I hurt you? I did not wish to."

"No," she softly stated, as the depth of his words slowly sunk in. "I'm fine. But Erik…I hope you do live. And I hope you come back." Her voice trembled. She was dismayed when he didn't respond. Instead, Erik abruptly stood and went to retrieve the deck of cards. Sitting at the table, he calmly began to shuffle them in a wide variety of ways. His movements were smoother this time. With a sigh of resignation, she sat down to watch as he attempted to entertain her. He made no errors as he let the cards fly from hand to hand, making them vanish and shuffling them into an assortment of colorful fans and arches. She smiled, allowing the previous conversation to pass by. "Where did you learn all of that?"

He paused. "India. I had many hours of spare time. There was a British war veteran who spent several months at the apartment where I resided, and he had a talent with cards." Erik chuckled. "Considering he only had one arm, I would say that he was more than talented."

"Wow," she murmured. He sounded less hesitant to speak about this part of his life. "India? But you were born in France, right?"

His eyes narrowed, and she knew that she had stepped into more uncertain territory. "Yes. My parents were both deceased, and so I traveled with Nadir to Northern India. I spent some years in Uttar Pradesh. Also some time in Punjab and Haryana. It is not the most sanitary of countries, but they do have a wide variety of crafts and tricks that one can pick up if they take the time."

"How long did you stay in India?" she softly asked.

"A decade, give or take a few years."

"And then where did you go?"

From the glare that Erik cast, she knew that the conversation was about to end. "I returned to France." His hands clenched over the cards. "And then there was nothing. Nothing until now." Silently, he began to shuffle again. As the cards flew past her vision in red and black swirls, Christine began to form a timeline in her mind.

She stayed with him the rest of the morning and afternoon, and their time together was peaceful and without conflict. Erik showed her several of the easier card tricks, lightly touching her hands as he positioned them to properly shuffle. Occasionally, she would get him to divulge harmless bits of information about his time in India. She learned that he was very much self-educated, especially where it came to music, teaching himself the piano at an extraordinarily young age and only later picking up the violin. She discovered that he despised watching television and found the portrayal of reality in most shows 'completely hideous.' He was also unhappy with most contemporary music, although he did have some appreciation for certain forms of jazz. Each miniscule fact helped her form a larger picture, made him less of a shadow and more of a man.

Later that evening, he took her out again in a similar car, the violin always in hand. She told him that she was hungry, and so he instructed the driver to go to a sandwich shop. Christine ran inside and ordered a turkey sub to go, later finding it strange to eat in front of him with his eyes always upon her. She kept wiping her mouth and side glancing him. "I'm not normally this messy," she finally said, as she finished and roughly pressed the napkin to her lips. "It's just hard to eat…in the car."

"You are fine," he murmured. There was no disgust in his voice, nothing but quiet appreciation.

He took her to an isolated area and played the violin. Christine sat closer this time, losing herself in the music and the hypnotic motions of his arms as he glided the bow up and down. Afterwards, they drove through the city for a while, and some of the decorative lights were beginning to appear. She smiled at the sight of the flashing red and green bulbs that had been draped around the side of a building. Red velvet ribbons hung from some of the street lamps. A plastic snowman had been set out on a curb, black coals forming its eyes and mouth. She sat back in the plush seat and allowed the heat to blow over her. It all seemed so surreal and fragile.

When he returned her to the hotel where she was staying, Christine turned to him, feeling the familiar heavy sensation encase her heart. She gently took his hand. "How much longer are you staying, Erik?"

"Until the day after tomorrow," he replied, entwining their fingers together. "Likely before dawn."

She nodded and squeezed his hand, a lump forming in her throat. "I'll come early again tomorrow."

* * *

Christine quietly sat across from him at the table, writing on a sheet of notebook paper and occasionally pursing her lips in frustration as she glanced over at a textbook. At around eight in the morning, she had knocked upon his door. As always, he had doubted whether she would come back, especially after his sanity had nearly shattered the previous day. Still, he had spent the night waiting for her, and she had again come to him. A backpack sat upon her shoulders. "If you want some time to compose," she had stated with a smile, "I can just get some schoolwork done." 

After a half hour, he had pushed his scribbles aside and just studied her as she worked. Sometimes the angel appeared so puzzled that he considered taking the homework and completing it in an eighth of the time that it was taking her. That would certainly dissolve the little frown on her lovely face. _Anything to make her happy._

She looked up and smiled. At him. She often smiled at him now. "I think I'm tired of this," she declared, closing the textbook. "Did you…write more music?"

He nodded. "A few lines." It was all so mundane that it seemed extraordinary, just to be sitting in a room, talking of trivial matters. There was no rushing adrenaline, no hand in position to grab the lasso, no racing blood, no screams or sirens or gunshots. There was just quiet. There was just her looking at him with kindness and slight curiosity.

Had it been possible, he would have sat there forever.

Yet, he was leaving early the following morning, pulling himself away from this artificial bliss. With Oliver alive and Nadir in prison, there would never be peace of mind. He would finish what he had started, no matter what the outcome. But afterwards? If there were an afterwards…

At one point, he had been quite set on ending his life after the last two members of _Falcon _were adequately disposed of. Two final races through the flying bullets of security guards, two more dead bodies, and the bitter satisfaction of revenge. Then, he could die in peace. Some would say that he would roast in hell afterwards, but he didn't believe in such nonsense. Death was escape, merely an ending.

He was no longer sure whether he wanted to die, and this unnerved him.

She took his hand. She touched him frequently now, lightly on the fingers or shoulders. Weeks after he had escaped from prison, Nadir had attempted to place a comforting hand upon his bruised arm. Mr. Khan had nearly been slammed into the wall. Touch was pain; it had been that way for a decade. The little physical contact he received was torture. "Do not ever touch me again," he had warned Nadir. "I may kill you." Mr. Khan had obeyed.

Christine had first touched him to prevent the death de Chagny, grabbing his arm in an attempt to keep him from throwing the lasso. Even in her fear and desperation, her touch hadn't been painful. Perhaps she was incapable of causing pain. Her hand was warm. He wanted her to touch him, ached for her to do so.

"My classes are going to be even more difficult next semester," she stated with a frown, taking him from his thoughts. "I'd forgotten how hard college could be."

"You will do well," was his reply.

"I could use your help. Especially for the spring recitals." She averted her eyes.

At every moment, he waited for her to express disgust with him, waited for her to leave and see him as the virus that he was. He could then die, knowing that there was no reason to go on after his mission was complete. But she continued to stay, and he hated her for making it difficult. And he loved her more than ever.

Peace and unease simultaneously wafted through the room. Everything was perfect. Everything could fall apart at any moment. "What time do you leave?" she enquired, after he had refrained from responding to her comment.

"Around four in the morning." Less than eighteen hours remained. He stared into her eyes to avoid losing his mind. They played another card game, one that she had learned many years ago. It was a simple game, but it made her happy and allowed him to keep a grip on his sanity.

"Where are you going first?" she asked, looking down at her hand. She was struggling to keep her voice steady.

He paused. "It is best that I do not say."

"You still think I would tell someone?" she shrilly asked, her eyes widening in distress.

"No," he replied. "I trust you. But words sometimes slip out when we do not mean them to, especially when we are under duress."

"If the police would ever question me," she murmured. "I see." He nodded once and looked toward his cards, glancing up again when he heard her sniffle. "Erik…" She wiped her eyes, struggling to keep from crying. "Please stay safe." He refused to answer her. Christine studied him for a long moment, an odd glint in her eyes. He failed at his attempt to read her mind. She gazed back toward her cards.

The day passed quickly between their games and conversations. She only left once to get something for lunch at a nearby deli, returning in less than an hour. It was the longest hour of his day. Otherwise, the clock seemed to mock him, minutes flying by in a matter of seconds. As it was nearing the winter solstice, the sky became dark early. The unrest in the air grew thicker as the room became even dimmer. He dreaded the moment when she would ask to leave and wondered if she would be willing to take another ride with him. Her eyes were very tired.

He began writing music again, something to play for her that night on the violin, a faster variation of _Christine_. His hands flew over the paper as the notes came to him, his motions desperate and unsteady as he attempted to capture these last moments within each measure. It was becoming difficult for him to breathe.

At some point, as he was lost within his composition, Christine arose from the opposite chair. He briefly glanced up, vaguely wondering if she just wished to use the bathroom or stretch. Instead, she slowly walked over to stand behind him. Awakened, he raised his head, immediately feeling her tiny hands on his shoulders. His muscles tensed. A shiver traveled through him as her hands lightly rubbed the upper part of his emaciated back. He didn't dare turn around, didn't dare make any sudden movement that might scare her away.

"Erik," she murmured. "I promise."

"Promise?" And then, she kissed the top of his head. He barely felt it, but it was there. Her warm lips touched his cold skull, leaving a cool, tingling sensation behind. He shuddered in shock and delight, freezing in place. His mind completely abandoned him. She said his name again, softly. "Christine," he reverently whispered. Her hands left his back, but he still felt the lingering pressure of her divine touch. Her fingers traveled to the back of his head, softly brushing against his wispy hair. He closed his eyes in pleasure, his arms limply falling to his sides, his muscles useless. For a moment, he was hers. Only when a cold gust of air hit his sore, malformed face did he fall from the cloud of bliss. And even then, it took him a moment to understand.

"No!" he snarled as reality crashed into him, attempting to grab the mask and clutch it back to his face. "Release my mask! You stupid, stupid girl! No! No!" The piece of porcelain was already gone, though, dangling from her hands by the thin strings. He was cornered between the chair and the table, struggling to get away from her without literally turning and slapping her away from him. His hands covered his face, but he knew that she had already seen. The room was deathly quiet. He could not think for a moment, could not recall time or location. He only knew that she was there, saw her blue eyes widen through the cracks between his fingers. _She is going to run. She is going to scream. She is going to faint. I will not be able to catch her if she faints…_ Good. Let her see, then. Let her suffer. He slowly lowered his hands and stared directly into her eyes, a scarlet haze descending over him. His twisted lips formed into a sneer.

Her eyes trailed over his face, first in confusion and then comprehension and finally utter disgust. A very soft cry escaped her lips, and she quickly turned in the opposite direction, burying her face in her hands. Christine fell to her knees at the side of the bed and leaned over the side, perhaps to keep from fainting. She put her hands over her mouth, her shoulders heaving with deep, unsteady breaths and her arms shaking. She gagged several times.

He silently stared at the back of her head.

And then came the torrent of rage.

"Yes! There you go!" he screamed, nearly knocking the table over as he flew from the chair. "There you go! You saw! You saw what you wished, didn't you, you stupid little wretch! Damned wench!" She flinched at his voice, her shoulders continuing to shake. Still, she didn't move from her kneeling position, didn't try to get away. "You think you are safe now?" he enquired with a cackle. "Erik is leaving now, you think? I will never see him after this night, you tell yourself. Oh…but you are not yet safe!"

He lunged forward and entwined his hands into her hair, tightly gripping onto the blonde strands. "Why don't you look at me, Christine? Look at me, you stupid child! Why won't you look at me!" She let out a soft sob as her head was slightly jerked backward and braced herself for more pain. With a snarl, he removed his hands from her tresses and snatched the mask from where it lay beside her. A heavy weight descended upon his chest, nearly suffocating him. "I could take you with me tonight, Christine," he frantically continued. "No one would ever hear from you again. You would disappear, and only I would know where you were. And if you attempted to escape, I would threaten that boy's life. Do you miss him now? But he is far away, Christine. There is only Erik with you!" She attempted to say something, but he quickly cut her off. "No more good thoughts, Christine. No nothing! Nothing! Nothing!

He began to pace back and forth, ignoring her soft sobs. He visualized dragging her with him all the way to the cargo ship, clamping a hand over her mouth as she attempted to scream, whispering both threats and comforts into her ear as she cried, holding her tightly against him as she struggled to escape. She would never get away. _His. Only his. His forever._

_Why won't you look at me, Christine?_

It was all really a nightmare, wasn't it?

He was a nightmare. And now she knew it. He hurled one of the heavy desk chairs into the wall, where it crashed and made a long dent in the white plaster. He silently moved a hand over his own naked face, reminded of why she was cowering on the floor. It was utterly horrific. The weight pressed harder against his chest, as the enormous bathroom mirror told him everything. It was over.

Christine turned to look up at him, squeezing her eyes shut and paling when she saw that the mask had not yet been replaced. She heaved again, a nauseated expression on her face. "I am…so sorry," she choked out, tears streaming out from beneath her closed lids. "I'm so, so sorry."

"Yes," he hissed. "You _are_ sorry. Sorry because you believe I will never let you leave. Sorry because you saw something that will never leave your mind. I imagine that you are more sorry than you have ever been in your life!" He tied the mask back onto his face, jerking the strings so tightly that the porcelain literally dug into his flesh. There was no doubt that the sores were bleeding anew. A cool wetness also streamed down his cheeks, and it was not blood.

She hesitantly glanced back up again. "No," she hoarsely began, slowly standing up and steadying herself. She started to walk toward him. "No, Erik. Please. I wanted to be able to look. I wanted to. I'm so sorry. I wanted to…"

He moved away from her. "Well, you couldn't, Christine! But do not feel so wretched. No one else ever could. Except perhaps the blind. Yes, I do love the blind." He hoarsely laughed. "Did you think you were somehow special?" He grabbed her arm and yanked her toward him, glaring downward, nearly wanting to hurt her. She trembled. _Fear me._

"No," she whispered. "I didn't. I just…I thought…."

"You thought what? That Oliver was exaggerating? No, my dear. I fear he wasn't. You see, my dear, he was right there when my mask was torn off. He was there when I was tied up and dragged away like an animal! I daresay that the memory is very vivid in his mind."

A look of horror crossed her face. He wished to kill himself for giving her so much information. "No," she stated. "God, no," she sobbed. "Erik…I thought that if I could look, you would come back. I wanted to be able to so badly. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

He released his hold. _No one had ever apologized._ "And do you still wish me back, Christine?" he sneered. "I fear that wherever I go, the face will follow. I cannot seem to be rid of it, you see. It always seems to follow. Do you still want me back!"

"Erik," she miserably murmured. "I..." She paused. "You're…you're not taking me with you?"

He laughed bitterly. "If you truly believed that, you would be in hysterics. Surely you must have realized that it would barely be worth the effort to sneak you screaming and kicking onto a cargo ship. And then keep you silent for two weeks in a mice-infested closet. They would literally crawl over your feet, nibble at your face and hair. And I do not have much of a nose, as you could see." He laughed again. "But I imagine the smell is unpleasant to those that do." The scarlet rage was beginning to fade, leaving behind numb resignation. Death was becoming very welcome again, both his own and that of others; all would be forms of release. He sat down in the armchair and leaned back, laying his arms on the rests. "No. I will not take you," he whispered. "Run. Escape. Scream, if you'd like. There is no need to apologize anymore." He waited with his eyes closed for the sound of the door to open and shut, for the silence.

"That's awful," she whispered. "Being on the ship like that."

"And yet it is paradise compared to some places. Places that you will never see, my lucky Christine." He heard the bed creak as she sat upon it. "I told you to go," he stated. "Ah. You need a taxi, no? I suppose you want me to call? Would that give you a good thought of me, Christine? If I called?"

There was a moment of silence. "No. I mean...I want to stay until you have to leave," she murmured. "Please, Erik. I'm so, so sorry. Please. Let me stay with you."

He finally opened his eyes, not even knowing where they were anymore. "I will not leave for hours. Until morning. "

"I know."

* * *

What she didn't understand was that it was never a matter of the mind. It was never a choice. It's simply the natural reaction of someone to gag, vomit, or faint when met with something that looked as his face did. She didn't want the bitter bile to rise up in her throat, the dizziness and the nausea. To see a face that looks as though it's melting on one side and rotting on the other, a human face that is staring at you, she could do nothing but turn away. If she looked any longer, she would do something worse. When the face was gone, though, Erik returned. As he screamed at her in anger and anguish, she immediately felt self-hatred. She had failed. She had hurt him. 

She wasn't ready to leave yet. By going now, she would be sealing his fate. But could she still ask him to return, not knowing whether she could ever look at his face? What if she was always too weak and afraid for him? She gripped the bedspread in frustration. It wasn't fair. She wanted him to live! She needed him to come back.

Erik stood, his eyes dim. He said nothing concerning her choice to stay. "I am going to step outside for a moment. For air."

Christine looked up with uncertainty. "But you'll come back before you leave?"

"Yes. I will return in a short while."

His stride was slow as he walked out the door, almost defeated. After a moment, she stood up and retrieved the chair, cringing as she saw the dent in the wall. She sat down in it, feeling the legs wobble. _Poor Erik. To look like that…Horror, horror, horror..._After about twenty minutes, he still hadn't returned. Feeling extremely exhausted from the ordeal, she laid her head atop the desk. The face again popped into her mind, and she swallowed back the bitter taste forming in her mouth. The nausea passed. She forced herself to think of his heavenly voice instead, of their quiet conversations and entrancing lessons, of his many attempts to please her. At some point, she drifted off to sleep.

She was vaguely aware of him entering some time later, could sense him staring down at her, even in her unconscious state. "Christine," she heard him murmur, his voice hoarse. He stroked her hair. "I love you. Why did you have to see? I love you. I love you."

With her head turned away from him, she opened her eyes, his words lingering in her ears. _Erik...Perhaps she had known for some time, though..._The little epiphany came upon her at that moment. Believing Erik to be dead was many times worse than looking at his face. She had experienced both, knew which one made her sicker. Hearing the soft scratch of a pen across the table from her, she went back to sleep.

When she awoke the second time, he was gathering papers from atop the table. Christine looked at the clock and saw that it was a little past three in the morning. "Oh! I slept too long." She wiped her tangled hair from her sweating brow. "It's so late," she miserably stated. "I should have been awake to..."

"You needed to sleep." He gazed over at her. "You will become ill if you do not." He paused. "And you were here, which is all that really mattered."

She stood, her muscles stiff and her vision blurred from sleep. Everything seemed foggy and surreal. "Erik."

"I telephoned a taxi to pick you up at four. He will be directly at the front and will take you to the doors of your hotel."

"Erik," she whispered. "Tell me that you're going to come back."

He stared down at her. "My face will never change, Christine. Not until I am dead and look like any other decaying being. Death is truly the great equalizer, no?"

She ignored his comments. "I'm going to find an apartment here, after I sell my old house. I'm going to find a job and go to school. I'll just be here waiting."

Erik chuckled. "Yes. A quaint little apartment. With a porch and a garden."

She weakly smiled, pretending that the statements were not tainted with sarcasm. "Yes. Maybe." More than anything in the world, she wished that she could bear to see his face. All she could do was try to make him understand that, even if she wasn't able to look at him, she still wanted him to return. She still cared about him. But she didn't know if Erik was even capable of understanding this.

"I am leaving now," he stated. "There may be unforeseen problems, and it is best that I take no risks."

"Erik." She reached out and took one of his hands, before pressing his cold fingers to her lips. He remained completely still, his breath unsteady. "Please."

"Christine." He stepped away from her after she released his hand, sighing and turning away. "Do not wear another's ring until after you are certain of my death." Before she could ask him what that meant, he had already gathered his few belongings and opened the door. A cold gust of air entered the room.

"Erik!"

"Rest well, Christine. Sing often." He left, closing the door behind him and blending in with the night.

She stood shivering in the darkness, still not knowing whether he planned to live or die. She sat down and cried for a while, her soft sobs the only sounds in the room. At six minutes before four, she gathered up her backpack and the violin case, cradling the latter against her chest. Taking a deep breath, she realized that she needed to pay the room bill before she left. She needed to go to the lobby. Then, she would find the taxi. One motion after another.

And so began the waiting game.


	34. Part 3: A New Year

Hi guys! Finals are over, and I'm back. I'm still waiting to see how I did in Tax, but everything else went well. Thanks for all your wishes of luck.

Part 3 now begins with another small jump in time. Thank you again for all your wonderful reviews.

**Read and Review!**

_New Year's Eve_

Carlotta Glouer stood on the second step of the staircase, one hand on the polished banister as she momentarily admired the throngs of people gathered throughout her family's spacious sitting area and dining room. Most were holding half-filled champagne glasses, although no one appeared to have drunk past their limit yet. Then again, it was difficult to see everyone's state when they were mostly in costume. Cleopatra and a feathered peacock were conversing by the glowing fireplace. A mermaid, a gypsy, and a knight were laughing near the smorgasbord. The room was also filled with a variety of those who had just put on glamorous dresses or tuxedos and labeled themselves as famous actors or historical figures.

There was a certain sense of accomplishment in knowing that she had practically put together an affair this large by herself. All these people were gathered here solely through her efforts. The only detail that was not hers was the mansion, which technically belonged to her mother's family. Still, at the moment, she was the lady of the house. Carlotta had marked the event by coming as the first Queen Elizabeth, thinking her hair and pale complexion gave her the ideal look for the role. She wore a cream-colored dress with golden circular designs, similar to one seen in a painting, save for a smaller hoop. A lacy white collar adorned the sides of her neck, and her hair was done up in an elaborate bun of barrettes and ribbons that resembled pink flowers.

She stepped off the second step and onto the landing, nodding in greeting to those who noticed her. Many were old friends of the family that she had known since she was a child. Some of the guests were people that she had met during the course of her successful career, other singers, directors, and studio heads. "Happy New Year, m'lady!" came a cheerful voice from behind her. "Don't you look grand!"

She smiled as her old friend from secondary school walked over and gave her a kiss on the cheek. "Good evening, Thomas." She looked over his plain suit and tie. "What exactly are you supposed to be?"

He laughed sheepishly and ran a hand through his cropped black hair. "My costume's in my car. I was going to be a wizard. I'll change later."

"Ah. I see." Her gaze began to again wander around the room.

"Are you going to grace us with your voice tonight?" he asked with a grin, attempting to keep her attention and knowing how much she loved the spotlight.

"No," she replied, looking back at him. "No singing tonight. My voice is tired from this week. I'm here to do nothing but eat, dance, and enjoy myself."

"If you say so, m'lady." Thomas looked around. "Great turnout tonight, isn't it? I don't most of the people here, but there are quite a few of them."

"Yes. Well, after my Halloween costume party had to be canceled due to all of that…nonsense with my uncle, I decided to have one for the New Year. And I did put all my effort into it. I expected no less than this."

Thomas laughed. He rarely took anything too seriously, including her occasional temper and vain comments. Maybe that was why she accepted his company. "How is your dear old uncle, anyway?"

She wrinkled her nose. "I don't know, and I don't care. As I've said before, Uncle Oliver can go to hell."

"Didn't he pay for most of your voice lessons?"

"Not for a very long time," she snidely replied. "I've supported myself for many years now, and I don't want his dirty money." She shook her head and waved her hand. "Let's not talk about it anymore. The last thing I want to talk about this evening is my uncle."

"That's fair enough." He took a sip of his drink, continuing to look around the room with interest. "If we were anywhere else, I'd say that all the gold jewelry and diamonds were fake. But here…probably not."

She laughed. "I'm glad that I ended up having a New Year's party instead of one for Halloween. The costumes are more elegant. Glamorous and not grotesque or morbid." As she put the rim of a champagne glass to her lips and turned her head, something bright red entered her vision. Lowering the glass, she frowned. "Except for that man over there in the corner. All by himself."

Thomas followed her gaze and also frowned "Yes. That is a strange costume."

"It's frightening the guests," she muttered. "That giant skull head is hideous. Not to mention the blood red robes. Look how no one else will go near him. Who on earth is he? I haven't seen him until now."

"Neither have I," Thomas replied with a shrug. "Maybe you could just get him to remove the mask."

Carlotta nodded and set down her glass on a nearby table. "Maybe he wouldn't mind. It is my party, after all. I don't want any unnecessary distractions."

Holding up her long skirts, she walked over to where he was standing. Those who had actually noticed the red-clad figure were continuing to avoid him. Although she was by no means a meek woman, Carlotta found herself feeling intimidated as she drew closer. He was much taller than she, a foot over almost everyone there. The two dark eye sockets of the plastic white mask were staring down at her, the mouth fixed into an eerie grimace.

"Excuse me, sir," she began, clearing her throat. The man gave no response. Maybe he hadn't heard her with the din of the party all around them. "I was just wondering if you would mind removing your mask. It's somewhat inappropriate for this party." Still, he said nothing. "Your clothing is really enough of a costume," she nervously continued. Carlotta touched one of the loose sleeves. "Very expensive, I imagine. Is it silk?" A shiver ran through her as the dark sockets continued to stare downwards. "Who are you?" she finally questioned, attempting to keep her voice steady.

"Merely a guest," spoke an eerie voice, slightly muffled by the mask. "And it is best that you refrain from touching the Red Death."

She stood up straighter, gathering her faltering nerves. "Well, I am asking you to remove your mask for the sake of the other guests."

Carlotta swore that she heard him laugh at her. Frankly, she was not used to people disobeying her within her own home. With a scowl, she reached up with both hands to take the mask off herself, wanting to see just exactly who was harassing her. Two black-gloved hands suddenly gripped her wrists, squeezing her arms to where she was afraid that they would snap the bones. She squirmed in pain. The tone of the soft tenor voice made her blood freeze. "I would not do that, Ms. Glouer. Not unless you do not care to live through another year." A pause. "And why should we end this night so soon, when it will become so very interesting?" Another chuckle followed.

Several chills raced down her spine, and goose bumps ran up and down her pale arms. He finally released her wrists. She attempted to compose herself, to ignore her hammering heart. "Listen, sir. I don't know who you are, but…" There was suddenly a crash behind her, and she turned to see that someone had dropped a plate. As she whirled back around, she realized that the red-cloaked man was gone. Carlotta took several steps backward, nearly tripping over the hem of her long skirts as she desperately looked around the room. He had vanished.

"What's wrong?" asked Thomas, quickly walking to stand beside her. "You're pale. You're hands are shaking."

"Where did that man go?" she whispered.

"I have no idea," he replied, putting an arm around her shoulders. "What happened?"

She shook her head and leaned into his broad shoulder for a moment, her breath unsteady. "After midnight, I want everyone out of here as soon as possible." She looked around. "Where are my bodyguards?"

"But you can't ask everyone to leave by…"

"No," she commanded, her voice trembling. "I want everyone gone after then. The party has lasted long enough."

"Is something wrong?"

"I…I don't know. Maybe I'm just tired. I'm so overworked sometimes. Maybe it is nothing. Maybe it's all in my head."

He laughed. "That's likely all it is. Just relax. Enjoy your efforts." She quietly nodded, a feeling of anxiety continuing to churn in her stomach. A small orchestra started playing a waltz in the other room. She'd forgotten that she'd hired the ensemble. Thomas looked up. "Shall we dance for a bit, my prima donna?"

"Yes," she softly stated. "Let's…Let's go dance."

* * *

"You're still here? It's after eight." 

"Yeah. Finishing up some things for the end of the year."

"Well, take a break. Have you seen the profits for the quarter? We deserve to party all night more than anyone. I know a couple of good places."

Raoul finally looked up from his bright computer screen, his eyelids heavy with exhaustion. "No. I'm not really in the mood. You go, Josh. You're the one who made all the best investments this year. Have fun."

"Hey," said his thirty-year-old co-worker, sitting down in the chair beside him. "You're not the only one to suffer a loss this year. I got a divorce last July. Remember?"

"Yeah," replied Raoul with a sigh. "But that's because you were having an affair for two years."

Josh shrugged and ran a hand through his wavy brown hair. "Eh. It's all relative. Women are fickle no matter how faithful you are."

Raoul shook his head. "I still don't understand it. This time last year, Christine and I were fine. Everything was perfect." He swiveled the desk chair around and leaned forward. "Last Christmas, I got her a pair of diamond earrings and a stuffed polar bear. She didn't even care about the earrings. She loved the bear. That's how great she was. She pulled me down onto the couch and kissed me because I got her a plush bear."

Josh blinked, an uncomfortable expression forming on his handsome face. "Yeah." He cleared his throat. "She sounded nice. But like I said, women never know what they want."

"We were all set to be married," Raoul continued. "We were happy! And then that….that…"

"Craziness last spring?" Josh offered. "Maybe you should be thankful you're even alive to see the New Year."

"Yeah," Raoul softly replied, looking toward the floor. "I know. I am grateful. I just wish she was still with me. I thought we could recover from that together. Get married." Josh just shook his head in empathy and drew back, looking as though he regretted coming in there in the first place.

"You guys are still in here moping?" enquired a female's voice from behind them. Denise, the head secretary on the floor, walked inside holding her purse. She knelt down and wrapped an arm around both of their necks, her blonde perm brushing their cheeks. Her strong perfume wafted through the air. "Let's go somewhere. I know some parties. Let me take you out as thanks for that great big bonus." She grinned. "Or you can take me out, considering you're both millionaires."

"That's what I was trying to tell him," said Josh with a laugh. "Let's get out of here and spend some of that well-earned money. We, my friend, are the captains of industry."

"I've got some things to catch up on," Raoul replied. "You two go have fun."

"Aw. Come on," Denise pled. "Come out with us. I guarantee we'll find you a whole room of girls before the night is over with. You'll forget all about Kristin."

"Christine," he corrected, somewhat more harshly than he meant to. "And no. I don't feel like going out. Sorry."

"Fine," said Denise with a sigh, removing her slender arms from their shoulders. "Are you still coming?" she asked Josh.

"Yeah." He abruptly stood up. "Let's get the heck out of here. I'm getting depressed."

"See you guys next week," Raoul said, looking back toward his computer screen. They both murmured goodbyes, before gathering up their coats and leaving the complex. He was now the only one there, a single desk lamp lighting his office. He looked over the income statement again. The numbers _were_ good; he could at least celebrate that.

Raoul tossed the folder aside with disinterest. If that nightmare hadn't happened last spring, he would have been married to Christine by now. They would be celebrating the new year together, either at a party or quietly within their home. He would have had her in his arms all evening, kissing her when the clock struck midnight. How could everything fall to pieces within less than a year? The last month had been the worse, from the moment she'd returned the ring to him.

She didn't even seem that happy to be leaving. It…it was as though there was something else behind it all, something pulling her away from him. Or maybe he was overanalyzing it. She just didn't love him anymore. She loved her music, he guessed.

With a sigh, he began to gather up his papers and turn off the computer. Before he got up to return to his empty house, he clicked on his cell phone to check for calls. No more than two minutes earlier, he'd gotten a voice message. From Frederick Oliver. "Now what?" muttered Raoul to himself. He never had the best of feelings about Oliver. The man's intentions were questionable. Still, he kept in contact with his father's old friend, partially because Frederick always seemed to have a heads up on what was happening. There was some security in having such a contact, and ever since May, security was something that Raoul had learned to value.

He dialed his voice mail box and listened, expecting a New Year's greeting at the most. "Raoul?" questioned Oliver's panicked voice. "This is Frederick. Call me back immediately. It's urgent." There was a pause, and Raoul thought that the message had ended. "I'm afraid that I misinformed you. _He_ is alive."

* * *

Christine wondered if following Meg to the party was a good idea from the moment that she walked in through the front door. A blast of rap music had immediately greeted her, along with loud laughing and the strong odor of cheap alcohol. It wasn't that she'd never been to a house party. During her senior year in high school, she had gone to a couple of them, spending most of her time talking along the sides with the few people that she knew. It was more of an excuse to get out for a while than anything, and she never had more than one drink. 

That had been when everything was simpler, before the death of her father, and her engagement, and…and Erik. These were some of the same people she had gone to school with, many of them working in the city or attending the local colleges. Somehow, though, she felt miles away from them, not even able to remember most of their names. Some were dancing. Most were gathered into circles, talking and laughing. "Wow," she murmured, slowly taking off her coat. The room was uncomfortably warm.

"Yeah," said Meg with a laugh. "Hopefully things won't get too crazy for awhile."

Christine just nodded and looked around. She eyed the punch bowl suspiciously, before grabbing a can of cola, figuring the caffeine would do her more good than anything else. She'd been tired lately. Part of it was the work she had put into getting her father's house ready to be sold. She had cleaned all of the rooms and attempted to repair some of the holes in the walls. Some carpentry work needed to be done by a professional, but she decided to have a real estate agent take a look at it. Raoul had once told her that she could get more than eighty thousand dollars for the property, and she hoped that would be enough to start some kind of permanent life up in Boston.

She was also tired because of the invisible weight upon her shoulders, the ever-present anxiety that came from constantly waiting. Her main reason for going to the party was to get her mind off of everything else.

Taking a sip of soda, she adjusted the collar of her blouse, growing uncomfortable in the dim and muggy room. A loud rock song had started playing, the bass pounding in her ears_. I know what Erik's opinion of this music would be. 'A wretched abomination!' _The memory of his eccentric comments brought a small smile to her face. The smile somehow attracted a guy over to her.

"Hey! Christine! Right?" asked a brawny guy with dark-blond hair. It took her a moment to remember him from high school. He'd been one of the linebackers on the football team. They'd spoken only a few times.

"Yeah," she stated. "Hi."

"Yeah. I remember you. I used to cheat off you in Chemistry sometimes. Got me a _B_ in that class." He grinned.

"Heh." She shifted. "That's…good."

"Yeah! Good times back then." She could tell that he was getting tipsy. "Oh! Here's a good song!" Putting a muscular arm around her shoulders, he rocked from side to side with the music.

She searched the room for Meg, her muscles tensing. "Could you please just…" Some people had started singing off key with the song, further increasing the volume in the room. "Please just get…" Her head was beginning to pound. Perspiration was gathering on her forehead. "Get your arm off of me!" she snapped.

"Jeez. Sorry," he muttered, abruptly drawing away. "Just having some fun."

Several other people were staring at her with disdain. "Sorry," she murmured, her face turning red with embarrassment. Christine whirled around and headed for the front door. She opened it and stepped out onto a concrete front porch, grateful for the cold night air and the silence.

She shouldn't have come to the party. Being with crowds of people didn't take away the feeling in the pit of her stomach. She tried so hard not to waste her hours moping. All of her classes had finished with fairly high grades. In her little spare time, she had met with Gavin, letting him do most of the talking about his upcoming wedding. Ever since she had returned for winter break, she had been getting her house ready for sale. Only on Christmas did she take a break to spend the day with Meg and the Giry family.

Each day, she waited for news. Every morning, she would turn on the television, holding her breath and waiting for confirmation of her worst fears. Every night, she prayed for his life.

She hoped that he would remember her. What if he stopped caring, or wasn't even capable of caring after all the violence and madness? What if she were waiting for nothing? What if he returned in a similar state to when she had first encountered him, nearly an emotionless monster? What if her inability to look at his face had truly destroyed everything? _I shouldn't have taken off the mask!_ What if he died?

Each thought was like a little needle piercing her heart. She gripped onto the wooden porch railing and closed her eyes, attempting to gather her composure, trying to force the thoughts from her mind. The door squeaked open behind her.

"Hey!" said Meg. "I thought I saw you come out here. Are you okay?"

"Yeah," she quickly replied, inhaling sharply. "I just needed some air. I'll be back in a minute."

"Yeah," replied Meg. "It's kind of a bad party." Her friend came all the way outside, softly closing the door behind her. They were both silent for a moment. "So…what's your New Year's resolution? Mine is to find a job that I can actually keep."

Christine laughed. "Mine is to survive the next year."

Meg laughed as well. "That would be a good resolution for you." She squinted down at her watch. "It's about midnight. I'm going to go find someone to kiss. I don't think I'll stay much longer after that."

Christine smiled, feeling somewhat calmer. "I'll come back inside with you." Going back into the living area, she stood slightly to the side as everyone gathered around the television, many of them hand-in-hand. As the new year rolled into Chicago, she closed her eyes, oblivious to the noise around her.

"Five!"

_Where are you?_

"Four!"

_This is getting too hard. I can't stand waiting._

"Three!"

_I feel like crying. But I won't. Not here_

"Two!"

_There's nothing I can do now._

"One!"

_I love you._


	35. Hanging by a Thread

I'm glad that everyone enjoyed the last chapter. I tried to reply to quite a few of you, and I'll make that attempt again. Your comments have been wonderful.

Just a couple of quick comments. Remember that London is on a different time than Chicago. At the time that Oliver called Raoul, it was already about 2:30 in the morning in London. Secondly, this chapter is slightly disturbing at some spots. It's not gory, but it's not going to give you the warm cuddlies, either.

**Read and Review! **

_New Year's Day- 1:30 AM- London Time_

Carlotta released a soft sigh of contentment as she slipped a plush cotton robe over her silky blue nightgown. The warm bath had soothed her nerves after the party, and she was grateful to have forced everyone out of the mansion by twelve forty-five. Of course, the guests had been irritated, but she hadn't cared. Even after her dance with Thomas, an unsettling feeling had plagued her all evening, making it impossible for her to even enjoy the party.

As she dried her shoulder-length red hair with a towel, she began to relax. The silence and solitude were soothing. Perhaps she _was_ becoming overworked, with her solo recordings and latest role in the opera. Her life consisted of one appointment, rehearsal, or performance after another. Was it all worth the effort, though? Oh yes! Of course it was worth it to be on that stage in front of thousands of people, to be one of London's darlings. Still, she decided that she would take some time off for herself. God knew, she deserved it by now.

Standing in front of the silver-rimmed mirror that hung on her bedroom wall, she began to brush the damp tangles from her hair. A small smile formed on her lips as she thought back to Thomas. He was a bit simple for her, and he didn't give a damn about fame and success. Still, it was nice to be in a man's arms that evening. Sometimes, men seemed almost afraid of her forward personality. "_And maybe they should be," _she thought with a satisfied smirk.

Taking a slender hand, she began to fluff out her hair while searching her reflection for any unwanted wrinkles or blemishes. As she leaned in to examine her eyes, Carlotta swore she saw the reflection of something move behind her. Something black and billowy. She whirled around, feeling a shiver overtake her body. The room seemed colder.

Nothing was there. She took a long, deep breath. "Compose yourself," she murmured. "You're acting like a frightened child."

The house creaked, and she jumped. Well, that wasn't unusual; it was built in the 1920s. "Calm down, you silly girl. Get some beauty sleep."

She heard the soft rustle of material on her left and turned to look, her eyes growing wide with fright. Again, there was nothing. At that point, though, Carlotta knew that she was not alone upstairs. "Who's there?" she asked into the emptiness, nearly ready to scream for her bodyguards. They were always stationed near the front entrance of the home. That is, if they weren't sneaking off to get a drink or play poker. "Who's there?" she yelled, as her heart rate increased. "Show yourself!"

A soft chuckle came from somewhere of unknown origin, the sound slowly traveling around the room until it was right beside her ear. Carlotta gasped and jumped backwards, running into a table and knocking over a decorative vase. The object fell to the throw rug without breaking, rolling along the floor and stopping at the side of her canopied bed. "Stop it!" she screamed. "Leave me alone!"

She dashed for the bedroom door, throwing it open with a crash and running into the hallway. Nearly sliding on the marble floor, she began to run for the staircase. "Did you know, Ms. Glouer," began the eerie tenor voice from earlier, "that you sound like a toad when you sing?" It laughed again.

"Get away from me!" she screamed. Gripping the banister, she began to run down the stairs. "Help me!" she cried, nearly in hysterics. "Oh God! Someone help me!"

"_Croak_!" The voice had distorted itself to sound like an actual toad. "_Croak_! _Croak_! _Croak_!" And then the voice broke into loud maniacal laughter, the horrible noise reverberating throughout the hallways, sounding like one hundred voices were cackling at the same time.

"Where are my bodyguards?" Carlotta yelled, as she reached the landing. Nearly out of breath from running, she could barely scream anymore. Her cries came out as raspy whispers. The adrenaline that coursed through her veins was making her lightheaded. "Robert! Gregory! For the love of God, help me!"

"Your bodyguards?" enquired the voice, echoing throughout the home. It had followed her all the way to the bottom floor. "They are, shall we say, indisposed? Dear Uncle Oliver really should have given you more protection, no? One would think he would be more careful of his relations."

Releasing a sharp sob, she began to race for the front door. "Leave me alone, you monster! Oh! Help me! Someone help!"

"No one will help you, Ms. Glouer. You should not have ended your little gala so early. Now, you are quite alone."

The floor of the entryway was still slick from being mopped earlier. As she flew forward, her feet suddenly slipped out from beneath her. She landed against the marble tiles with a cry, feeling twinges of pain as her knees and hands roughly hit the floor. A shadow fell over her shaking form. Before she could turn around, something stung the upper part of her arm; a needle pierced her skin. "Oh!" she gave a soft yelp as she moved to look at her tormentor. As the world began to fade into darkness, all she could see was a black shadow and two golden lights. "Help me," were her last mumbled words.

* * *

Christine was lying on the couch with a quilt draped over legs, watching an old black-and-white romantic movie, when the doorbell rang. She glanced at the clock, cringing when she realized that it was already past ten in the morning. She was still tired from both staying up the previous night to greet the new year, along with the general feeling of lethargy that now accompanied her. No matter what any medical professional might say, heartache was a sickness, complete with physical symptoms. 

She arose from the sofa with a yawn and opened the door. An unfamiliar younger couple stood on her front porch, bundled in coats and smiling. "Hi there," said the man, a shorter brunet. "I'm sorry to bother you this morning, especially on a holiday, but we were told by a friend that this house was for sale. We wanted to take a look before we went out of town. Is that a problem?"

Christine blinked and slowly shook his extended hand. "Um…no. Not at all. It's not really cleaned up yet, but you can have a look inside if you want. Who told you?"

"Anna Giry," he replied with a smile. "She goes to our church. We're the Bradleys, by the way. We're looking to get out of our apartment and find a place with a little more room."

_Leave it to Meg's mother to spread the word._ "Oh. Okay. Nice to meet you. Come on in." She stepped aside and held the door open.

"Great! Thank you so much." He led his wife inside with his arm around her shoulders. Christine showed them the kitchen and living room, frowning at all the imperfections that marred the home. The brown stain on the ceiling above the kitchen sink looked terrible, and the counters had yet to be wiped of dust. Cracks were engraved into some of the walls.

"It has a sort of older look," commented Mrs. Bradley. "Kind of quaint."

Christine nodded, not sure whether to take that as a compliment. "Yes. It was built in the seventies, I think."

"Anna said you were moving up to New England?" asked Mr. Bradley, continuing to look around.

She pushed her hair from her face and nodded. "Yes. I have…school there." Despite her mood, Christine plastered a fake smile onto her face and attempted to maintain a friendly tone. She led them to the other rooms in the back, attempting to think of something useful to say. "The bedrooms were just painted a year ago. And all the leaks are repaired."

"Oh look!" exclaimed the woman, looking inside Christine's room. "This would be the baby's bedroom. Look at all the shelves. And the big closet!"

Her husband nodded. "Yeah. It is about the right size, isn't it?" He wrapped his arms around her stomach and gave her a kiss on the cheek.

Christine cleared her throat in the doorway. "Yeah. It could be. Um…congratulations, too." The situation felt odd, handing over the home she'd known for so long to complete strangers. Piece by piece, she was relinquishing her old life. It hurt, especially when there was nothing tangible to grasp onto yet. She decided to show them her father's bedroom last, as that would be the hardest to get through.

As they started to leave her bedroom, the phone rang. "Excuse me," Christine murmured, rushing past them to get it. "You can go look at the other bedroom if you want." _It will save me from having to show you._ She grabbed the phone. "Hello?"

"Christine?"

She recognized the frantic voice immediately. "Raoul? Yes, it's me. What's wrong?"

"Oh good! You are home." He took a breath. "Have you turned on your television this morning? To the news?"

A knot began to form in her stomach. "Not since really early this morning. I didn't see anything."

"Turn it onto channel thirty-five. They just started reporting it a couple of hours ago. I found out last night and wanted to make sure it was true before I called. I…can't believe it."

With a trembling hand, she picked up the remote control and turned to the channel. She froze, watching with growing horror as the bold-printed words flashed across the screen. _Singer Carlotta Glouer. Kidnapped from home. Two dead. Three injured. _

_Dear God…_

"He's alive, Christine," stated Raoul. "It was all a lie that he died. Or Frederick messed up. But he's alive."

"Oh my God," she murmured, for reasons that went beyond Raoul's supposed revelation. Feeling slightly dizzy, she took a seat on the couch and placed a hand to her forehead.

"I don't think we have to worry," he continued. "I don't think _he_ cares about us anymore. But Frederick is in hysterics over his niece. I wish there was a way to help. Are you okay? I can't believe it either."

"Uh-huh." She was intently listening to the television. From what she could understand, the 'kidnapper' had gotten away untouched. Although she wished that she could deny it to herself, Christine knew that it was Erik's doing. Intermingled among all the terror over the incident, she couldn't help but feel blessed relief that he had survived. But what was he doing? _Obviously using Carlotta like he used you and Raoul. Oh my God. Erik…please don't do anything to her! _

"Christine?" her ex-fiancé asked with concern.

"Yeah," she replied in a choked voice. "I'm fine." She swallowed and said what she desperately hoped to be true. "Maybe he won't hurt her after he gets what he wants. Maybe she'll be fine. He let us go."

"Don't count on it. He's capable of about anything." Raoul sighed. "I was hoping that he had really been killed. I guess it just wasn't that easy."

Christine's mouth hung open for a moment. She couldn't say anything, though, not without revealing her connection to Erik. She couldn't blame Raoul for his sentiments, either. "Yeah," was all she finally murmured. "I guess not." She continued to listen to the television. The investigations were in their earliest stages.

_But Erik was safe. There was more death, but she had always known that there would be more death. _

_No matter what happens there, please come back. _Those had been her words to him, and they held no conditions or exceptions. And she could not regret them.

"Are you okay, Christine?" asked Raoul.

"I'm fine. I-"

"Excuse me," said a voice from behind her. She jumped up from the couch and turned around, nearly forgetting that there were two other people in her home.

"I have to go," she quickly told Raoul. "Someone is looking at the house. Don't worry. I'm fine."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes," she replied. "I'll talk to you later. Bye." She quickly hung up the phone and turned back to her two guests. "I'm sorry." Her head was spinning. "Did you see everything you wanted?"

"Yes," said Mr. Bradley. "And we liked what we saw. It's about the right size for us. Just maybe a few repairs would make it better."

"You want to buy my house?" she numbly asked, having trouble keeping her gaze away from the television.

The man scratched his head. "Well, we might. Heh. We'll have to see the price on it first."

Christine nodded. Her eyes again drifted back toward the television as commentators and interviewees spoke. _Vile act. Monster. Inhuman. London will not rest until Ms. Glouer is found, and the perpetrator is dead or behind bars._

"Are you okay?" asked the woman.

In a daze, Christine slowly turned back to the couple. "Yes. I'm…I'm fine. Thank you for coming. Give me your contact information. I'll…I'll have a real estate agent call you."

* * *

Perhaps he did not fully appreciate his growing sanity, which he had acquired in those last weeks with his beloved angel, until he again began to lose it. Once he was on the cargo ship, hidden in the cobwebbed filled corners and musty closets, he realized what was he was leaving behind. He had returned to being nothing but a shadow, another rat that had managed to sneak its way on board the ship. Every part of his being had wanted to crawl back to her, to hide away with her and forget every other part of his excuse for a life. 

He had returned for the sole reason of hearing her voice and the privilege of watching her from the shadows. What had happened instead was nearly unbelievable. _Dangerously_ unbelievable, he would later find. As the ship traveled across the icy ocean, though, he found that he wanted to live. He wanted no one else to ever have her. The thought of her wedding another made his bony fingers curl and his concave stomach wrench. Even after seeing his horrific visage, she had not fled. She had still touched his hands, and his body ached for more human contact. He lost himself in these thoughts as the ship continued forward; it was like a blissful fog that he could use to escape his dismal surroundings.

Once the ship had reached land and he was able to breathe again, some clarity returned to his ruined mind. He would finish what he had begun, for there was no chance of peace as long as Nadir was in prison and Oliver was alive. The problem with wanting to live, though, was that his strategy would have to be better-developed. Breaking into a maximum security prison was not even an easy task for him, not when he didn't even know the exact location of Nadir's cell or how many backup security systems they had. The wretched buildings were built to withstand anything, including a bomb, and the guards were expertly trained to not miss their targets.

Originally, he had planned to find his way into the administrative offices of the prison, perhaps after dismantling the circuitry and disabling the security system. His hope was that chaos would ensue in the process, would allow him to enter nearly unnoticed and search for his comrade. There would likely be an extremely high body count by the end of it all, and he and Nadir had a fifty-fifty chance of being amongst the casualties.

Considering that he was not even certain on how to gain entrance yet, his chances of survival might be even lower. _If you die, someone else will have her. Maybe even the boy. They will touch her, and wed her, and … No. _He would have to choose a new strategy…or perhaps return to the original one.

Not only was Carlotta Glouer valuable to Oliver, but all of London would be in disarray if her safety were jeopardized. Oh, the authorities would claim to never bargain with criminals and terrorists, but they would. Unless they wanted their pathetic excuse for a soprano found hanging from a tree branch in some public park, they would cooperate. Oliver would see to it. _Perhaps Oliver would even return…_That would save him a trip to Spain, and it gave him even more of a reason to include Carlotta in his plans.

And even if everything didn't work out to his liking, he was already forming several alternative routes.

It had worked to his extreme benefit to stay away for so long. Most had let their guard down by now, perhaps some even still believing him to be dead. He found little resistance as he crept into offices at night, searching computers for news on Oliver, Carlotta, or any other tidbit that might be of use. His search on Belmarsh proved nearly fruitless, reconfirming his belief that attempting to break into the prison would wind up with his death. He could just see them showing his carcass on television, face exposed, with the headline: _Monster Shot Dead._

Christine would see.

Much to his appreciation, he discovered that Ms. Glouer was hosting a costume party for New Year's Eve. Obviously, it would be the most ideal time to enter undetected. He pieced together his outfit at an expensive costume boutique used for both parties and stage performances. Had he actually paid for the ensemble, it would have cost over a thousand pounds. Outside of being sewn for someone slightly below his height, the Red Death outfit had cloaked him well and ensured that few would dare to approach him.

The second thing that he desired was a secure place to take Ms. Glouer after the deed was done. Never again would he risk hiding in an apartment or other legitimate place. For some time, the idea of going underground had appealed to him, and, fortunately, London had its own subterranean world. Specifically, it had an array of abandoned subway tunnels, many of them later used as air raid shelters during the Second World War. Care had to be taken, though, for some were still used as tourist centers.

He finally discovered an abandoned system in which the aboveground entrance was completely sealed off. The former surface building and platforms were owned by the Ministry of Defense but rarely used or occupied. The tunnels were only accessible by complex maneuvering through adjoining subway systems, although he quickly learned of a few shortcuts. Some of the tunnels were also lit up by lamps, which saved him from needing a continuous source of light. The only flaw in the web of unused tunnels, lift shafts, and misplaced staircases was the thick layer of dust that coated the ground. He attempted to ignore the heaving in his chest, figuring he would have to get used to the conditions sooner or later.

The awaited night had progressed with few problems. Everyone was drowned in champagne. It was the first time he had been around so many living beings in quite some time, and he rather enjoyed walking amongst them in their blissful ignorance. Deciding that the simplest course of action would be to complete the task after everyone was gone, he had disappeared after his encounter with Carlotta. He had perused through the disgustingly lavish home for a short while to see if it contained any information of interest. Most everything there, though, appeared to have belonged to Oliver's sister. When he'd returned to the party, he discovered that Ms. Glouer was already beginning to usher the guests out. As he was becoming almost bored by the affair, the situation was favorable.

From that point on, everything became somewhat blurry. He remembered removing his costume and silently pursuing Ms. Glouer up the stairs, taking some enjoyment from the cat and mouse game. Every so often she would glance over her shoulder, subconsciously sensing the pair of eyes upon her. He had used his ventriloquist skills to chase her to the first floor, not wishing to go through the irritating process of dragging her down the stairs once she was unconscious. From what he could remember, it had all been rather easy, a cheap sort of thrill. Not nearly as daring as any of his other feats.

Of course, he had met with some expected resistance. When he'd first arrived at the manor and attempted to enter through a door on the left wing, there had been two guards who had demanded an invitation. Out of habit, he had immediately snapped the neck of the first one. A pleasurable adrenaline rush had followed. He had not killed for some time, had really no reason to do so over the last few weeks. Still, he could not deny that it felt quite good at that moment, was a sort of release from the turmoil in his heart and mind. It felt divine to have control over something again.

As he turned to kill the second man, even in his slight madness, he suddenly realized that all of this would become known to Christine. The damned media would report every last gruesome detail, would thrive on the high body count. And Christine did not like death, did she? No. No. His beauty really wasn't fond of it; death upset her and made her afraid. He'd suffocated the second guard into a dangerous state of unconsciousness and hid both bodies, once again feeling his control slipping.

His next attack that night had been on Carlotta's bodyguards, right before he'd stalked upstairs to torment her. That memory was also nothing more than flashes of faces and angry shouting. He'd attempted only to suffocate them, but, if his memory served him correctly, he had gone a bit too far with one man and snapped the bone. Ah well. Nothing could be done about it now. From that point on, hauling Ms. Glouer away was a simple task.

And so there he sat in the underground darkness one day later, musing over the rest of his plans. The shadows shifted, and the noises from above could occasionally be heard. He leaned against a brick wall with his hands folded behind his back, admiring his newly acquired world.

"Let me go!" Carlotta screeched from a nearby closet, likely once used for maintenance machines or cleaning tools. "Let me go!"

She was giving him a headache with her shouts, and his sanity was already so limited. The events of the last few days blurred together. When had he arrived? Three weeks ago? Four? "Let me go!" she again screamed. "You vile monster! I hate you!" After five hours of consciousness, the woman should have learned that her whining was futile.

He walked to the closet and opened the door. Her hands were tied behind her back, but he had left her legs unbound. A layer of dust caked her robe and nightgown. "Cease speaking," he softly commanded. He held up the needle. "I doubt that the body can handle too many doses before it permanently closes down."

She attempted to glare, the fear in her eyes and the quiver in her voice revealing her true state. "You need me too much to kill me," she whispered. "I know who you are. You want my uncle."

He coldly chuckled, and she flinched at the sound. "You are not the star of this show, Ms. Glouer, as much as it amuses you to think that. You are merely a prop." He looked directly at her, rolling the syringe back and forth in his palm. "Now stay silent."

He tensed as he closed the door and headed forward, walking parallel to the abandoned tracks. The darkness was beginning to seep through his death's skin and toy with his thoughts. Reality was uncertain. Perhaps…perhaps he needed to see the note that Christine had written him before she had departed on her vacation, the one in which she had pled for him to stay. Her sweet words would steady his mind.

Searching his pockets and small pile of possessions, he could not find the piece of paper. Hadn't he just had it a few days ago? _Or not? No. It was all real, wasn't it?_ It was real. It could not have been an illusion. Then where was the damned note from her? His breath became quick and unsteady. He felt a crumpled piece of paper within his pocket and yanked it out. When he opened the note and saw it to be the one from Frederick Oliver to Louis de Chagny, he tossed it aside with an angry snarl.

_Christine. Christine. Christine. She had given him that one, too, hadn't she? _

_She had touched him, talked kindly to him…kissed the top of his gruesome head, pressed his death's fingers to her warm lips. She had asked him to return. She had! Where was that note?_

His mind was foggy. Carlotta groaned in the other room. He sneered. _Why won't that wretched woman be silent so that I can think properly? Christine…_

_It was real…It was real…Every bit of it was._

_Wasn't it?_

_What makes more sense, you disgusting thing? That your own distorted mind has created its own pathetic fantasy? Or that she would actually touch you, would actually care whether you lived or died?_

The note was gone.

The answer to the question was terrifying.

And if that damned woman did not shut up soon, he would surely plunge the needle into her throat!

_Where is the note?_


	36. Monsters

I have written two chapters of a three chapter Christmas piece. It's a somewhat fluffy E/C for the holidays and gives a lot of nods to Leroux. If you like that kind of story, you might want to give it a look.

This chapter is a bit of a filler/connector, but it also explains Erik a little more. I know that he seems quite dark right now, but please remember how he was at the very beginning of this story. Some of you guys were even afraid of him. Heh. Enjoy the next chapter!

**Read and Review!!!**

The weather in Spain had become dismal, a cold front bringing icy rain and a chilled wind to the sea shores. Although normally Frederick would have been irritated by the conditions, he now had little time to give the climate a second thought. After nearly two months of waiting, his fears had finally come true. Perhaps a part of him had hoped that the monster had gone and died somewhere, although he really knew better. When Carlotta announced that she was having a costume party, he had been wary but allowed it. Not that she listened to him, anyway.

Now, he was talking on the phone to the British police, one wrinkled hand curled into a fist. His teeth had been gnashed together for the last several days, giving him aches in his jaw and skull. He had barely slept for the last two nights.

"So there was not a single clue found?" Leonie slowly wound her arm around Frederick's shoulders.

"I'm on the phone," he stated with aggravation. "Hush for a moment." She sighed and drew away from him. "So the letter that was sent to you demands an exchange?" Oliver questioned. "The monster wants his cohort in exchange for my niece?"

"Along with a large sum of money," the investigator replied. "We're supposed to meet him at some abandoned building to make the swap. Of course, we will not comply with him. We plan to surround him at the location and hopefully get a clear shot."

"Be careful that you do not end up shooting my niece," growled Oliver. "I do not trust this. He is too smart for this to work."

The investigator paused. "All we can do is go with what we have. And right now, our best bet is to follow him to where he says he's going to be."

Frederick sighed. "It will not be this easy."

"Maybe not. All we can do is put in our best efforts.

"How were the two men killed?" asked Oliver. "The guards?"

"Their necks were broken," he replied, maintaining a professional tone. "We don't quite know how. The guy's methods are unusual, to say the least. I'm rather surprised that he even left three of them alive."

"And nothing was left at the scene?" growled Oliver. "There is nothing that is going to tell you where my niece is being held?"

"Well, there was one thing. We don't know if it has anything to do with the crime, but-"

"Send a picture of it to me anyway!" snapped Oliver.

"That's just what I was going to do," he calmly replied. "There. Check your e-mail."

Frederick brought the picture up onto his computer screen. "What on earth is that?" murmured Leonie, tilting her head.

"What is that?" asked Frederick with disgust.

"A costume of some sort. A skull head with red robes. We think he left it there on purpose as a sort of symbol. It belongs to an exclusive costume shop. They hadn't even realized it was missing."

Frederick sighed and ran a hand through his thinning hair. "Well, that doesn't seem to be of any help."

"We are trying, sir. The investigations have just begun. We are doing everything within our power to find your niece."

"Just do not underestimate him," muttered Frederick. "Never do so."

"We won't, Mr. Oliver." The investigator paused. "Will you be returning to London any time soon?"

Frederick hesitated. Of course, that's what the masked fiend wanted him to do. On the other hand, he might be able to take control of matters if he did go to London. No one else seemed to be able to handle anything. _Bloody incompetent morons!_ "No," he replied, keeping his temper in check. "Not quite yet. Soon, perhaps."

"Very well, Mr. Oliver. We'll keep you updated on all developments."

"See that you do." Frederick slammed the phone down. "That _thing_ has my niece. Dear God! Can you even imagine what he's doing to her? I told the girl to get out of the damned country. Did she listen to me? Of course not!"

"It is not your fault," gently replied Leonie, massaging his shoulders. "You can't make her decisions for her. She is a grown woman. All we can do is let the police handle it until something new comes up. And maybe they will get her back during the exchange. Maybe it will all end right there."

Frederick placed his head into his hands. "I hate him! It! I hate it! He is going to drive me completely mad. I would like nothing better than to shoot him. Shoot it! It!"

"We should have killed him that very night," she murmured. "Before we even put him in prison. Maybe Louis would have looked the other way, you know? Dear Louis. He always looked the other way." She sighed. "Frederick? Can you still remember it? That night?"

"Of course," he replied with a morbid chuckle. "How could I forget? You're right. We should have killed him then."

"He thought he was coming to the city to settle some stupid lawsuit," she continued, leaning back into the sofa with a distant look in her green eyes. "He thought he had a chance. He must have. Daring to come out looking likes he does."

"He even wore a suit," said Frederick with a laugh. "I don't remember if there was a tie, too."

"Yes. I suppose that he thought we would actually sit across a table and negotiate with him. Sign papers and exchange business cards, perhaps? Or maybe discuss the entire thing over dinner. Can you even imagine?"

"No. I can't. I couldn't eat dinner with that face looking at me." Oliver shuddered.

"Forgive us for making you resemble the Creature from the Black Lagoon," she mocked in an overly hospitable voice. "Would you care for another biscuit? How about a glass of wine? _Ja_? Red or white?" Leonie broke into a fit of giggles.

"And then we arrested him that very night," Frederick murmured. "There was quite a crowd there, too. Louis de Chagny was even there. I thought the poor man was going to vomit."

"Well, the entire thing was somewhat violent, dear. Were some of those men even real policemen?"

"No. Some of them were mine." Frederick smirked. "He put on quite a fight, though. And it really worked to our benefit. Him struggling to escape, screaming…the mask plucked off… Everyone was eager to believe that he'd committed double homicide, especially with that face. It all made him look like quite the monster."

"And so he became," she finished with a sigh of contentment, as though the entire story were somewhat poetic. Leonie had always possessed an appreciation for literature and the fine arts. "Ah, Freddie. Is it really any wonder that he wants to kill us? Especially after whatever happened inside that prison." She sensually put her lips to his ear. "You know what happens in prisons, don't you?"

"I…" He started to turn and kiss her, before abruptly pulling away. "Not now, Leonie! My niece is going through hell. I don't have time for that." She rolled her eyes. Frederick's computer suddenly beeped, and they both turned to look.

"What is that?"

"A new e-mail," he replied. He clicked it open and began to quickly read. "They found something else inside the red costume." He opened another file. "And there's a picture of it. What in the hell is that?" Frederick leaned in to get a better look. "Oh. I see now."

Leonie peeked over his shoulder. "Interesting," she murmured.

* * *

Christine was crouched on her knees in front of the television, staring wide-eyed at the screen with her hands pressed to the side of her head. Ever since Raoul's phone call, she kept the news on at all times of the day, endlessly waiting for whatever was coming. Yesterday, there had been reports of a note left by the 'kidnapper,' requesting a tradeoff of prisoners and a large sum of money. The exchange was supposed to take place during the evening in London at some abandoned theater. 

She watched as police gathered outside, the newscaster detailing the events. It was obviously a setup; no one there meant to make a trade off. They meant to shoot Erik as soon as they saw him. Her heart was throbbing in her chest; she was going to be sick if she had to watch this happen on the television. Still, she couldn't bear to turn it off.

Raoul had called earlier that day, asking if she wanted him to come over that afternoon for support. She had hesitated but told him not to do so. Although she was in desperate need of comfort, she didn't want her former fiancé to ever know the truth. And how could she sit there in Raoul's arms all the while that he was hoping for Erik's death?

She sat there alone now. _Don't be there, Erik. For the love of God, don't be there. They'll kill you. Please God. Please. _

Time ticked by as more emergency vehicles gathered around the building. The shots were obviously being taken from a camera in a low-flying helicopter, giving a blurry view of the scene below. Armed officers were beginning to enter the sides of the building, attempting to surround the criminal inside. She waited for gunshots, waited for anything to happen. She closed her eyes.

More time passed. The reporter was silent, left with nothing to say except for the occasional obvious comment. Earlier, they had talked about her and Raoul's kidnapping and its ties to the case. That was one of the main reasons why this story was so heavily broadcasted in the United States. No one ever mentioned exactly why Erik wanted revenge, though. They just assumed him to be a madman.

Finally, after at least twenty more minutes, the voice of a British woman spoke. "Well, it seems that tonight proved to be a false lead. The police searched the building but found no signs of the perpetrator or Ms. Glouer."

"A dead end?" enquired the anchorman, tiredly shaking his head.

"It seems so," she replied. "We'll keep you updated with more developments as they occur. Meanwhile, the search for Carlotta Glouer continues."

Christine collapsed back against the bottom of the couch with a sharp sob of relief as the news turned to a weather forecast. Each day, she was beginning to realize just how much he meant to her. Even if it didn't make any sense to the rest of the horrified world, she wanted him to live. She loved him.

After calming down somewhat, she shakily stood up and walked to her father's old desk. Opening the top drawer, she took out a short stack of papers. The music that Erik had given her at the house by the graveyard was on top, slightly wrinkled now from the many times that she had held it. Christine had never gotten around to laminating the sheets, but she rather liked the texture of the papers beneath her fingertips. There was also an application for a passport that she had printed from the Internet. She hadn't made immediate plans to leave or even knew how to go about doing so. There was just some comfort in taking a step forward if she ever did need to go to another country. She wanted to feel in control of something, no matter how trivial it was.

The final piece of paper in the stack was the letter that she had written to Erik, requesting him to stay at the hotel. Although she had been the one to write the note, it reminded her of him, and so she kept it within her possession. She almost wished that he had taken it with him.

Christine sighed and clutched onto the papers for a moment, wishing that she didn't feel so helpless. Soon, it would be time for her to return to school. How was she ever going to focus on anything with all of this happening? She could barely stand to be away from the television.

She would just have to sing, she supposed. Sing for him and herself. And just keep waiting until the time came when she could actually be of use.

* * *

Nadir knew that something unusual was occurring in the outside world. An increased number of guards had been walking about the corridor, and a visible security camera had been installed right in front of his cell. No one would tell him anything of value, though, and so he was forced to sit on his cot and make guesses. Could his masked comrade really have returned? It was almost too much to hope for after nearly two months. He had been certain that Erik was dead. 

To keep himself from going crazy with curiosity, he allowed his mind to wander to the past again. Although there were a few events that caused him to shudder, most of his memories from India were not completely unpleasant.

It had been very difficult to sneak Erik across international boundaries; the entire trip had taken nearly a month, and Nadir was forced to use his limited funds on fuel, food, and boarding. Luckily, the boy's sickly and pale appearance had provided a convincing argument for getting him across most borders. Nadir had constantly explained that he was trying to get the boy specialized medical treatment in a foreign country. No one wanted Erik to stay within their territory; some even thought he had leprosy. On the several occasions that officials had been hesitant to allow them to pass through their country, Nadir had shown them Erik's face.

No one had ever stopped them from passing through after seeing that.

Through an old friend, Nadir had secured a job within the law enforcement of the state of Uttar Pradesh. Although the fact that he was Muslim would have kept him out of most government jobs, his multilingual status and international experience had proven extremely beneficial. They had even paid for him to take an English class to further his ability. As long as he kept his religious beliefs quiet, Nadir managed to hold a place within society and make a high enough wage to support both him and Erik.

If life in France could be seen as a sequence of events, life in India was better described as specific memorable occasions. Much of the time there was uneventful. Erik would spend his daytime hours reading or watching the other guests that lived in their small apartment complex, most of them also foreigners. Although most of the residents were very wary of the pale, masked boy, a few people would talk to him. There was an elderly Danish woman with poor vision who would bake a variety of iced pastries and then sit there telling stories about her childhood. An eccentric one-armed war veteran also befriended Erik and gave him an introduction to magic and card tricks. He was also responsible for teaching him a few phrases of English. Some other children resided at the complex, although Erik's association with them nearly resulted in a disaster that Nadir didn't want to dwell on at that moment.

He recalled one evening, after they had been there for about a year and a half, when he and Erik were walking home. Erik usually only came out after sunset to avoid being an object of curiosity; there was no doubt that some of the more devout Hindus had already deemed him 'untouchable.' Although the event didn't seem significant then, it was one of Nadir's strongest memories of their time in the country. As they walked down the cracked road, they passed several scraggly men in a dusty vacant lot. In between them, a white cloth dummy with only a head and torso was propped up on a stick. Each man was attempting to throw a rope around its neck from a designated distance, all the while laughing and taunting one another.

"What is that?" enquired Erik, looking over with interest.

Nadir glanced up. "Oh. That is the Punjab Lasso. Over a century ago, it was used as a form of execution in this region. Now, it appears to have become a mere game." He chuckled and shook his head. Before Mr. Khan could blink, Erik had run over to the circle of men.

"Can I try?" asked Erik in broken Hindi. The men stared at him suspiciously, some eyeing the mask with disdain.

"You?" asked one of the larger men with a laugh. "You are too little to even hold the rope. How old are you? Eight years old? Nine?"

"Erik!" Nadir yelled, becoming a bit nervous. "Come back here. Leave them alone."

"Let him have a chance," said one of the other men with a grin. "It will be entertaining, eh?"

"Very well," muttered the previous man. He handed Erik the rope and stood back with an amused expression. Even from a distance, Nadir could see Erik's yellow eyes narrow in deep concentration. After gathering the noose into his hands, he positioned the rope and threw it toward the dummy. The lasso snapped forward, just missing its target by inches.

"See. You cannot do it," said the man with another laugh.

"One more time," calmly replied Erik, reeling the noose into his hands again. "I was very close." He threw the rope forward, this time landing the noose squarely around the neck of the dummy. He yanked hard, contorting the cloth and cotton so that the neck was severely squashed and narrowed.

"Thank you," stated Erik, dropping the rope on the ground. He returned to Nadir's side, leaving the group of men staring after him with slight bewilderment. "I was rather good at that," he stated. "Wasn't I?"

Nadir laughed and scratched his head. "Yes. You were. Very good, Erik. I think you surprised them."

Erik nodded. "Yes. It is an easy game, no?"

"_For you, it does seem to be."_

Nadir was interrupted from his thoughts as both a prison guard and a man in a blue suit and red tie came to the door of his cell. He immediately stood up, a tremor of anxiety running through him. A truth would soon be learned. 

The man in the suit nodded in greeting, his mouth set in a grim line. "If you will excuse us, Mr. Khan, it is time that we had a conversation."

* * *

He'd known from the beginning that they would not cooperate during this first round. He'd just wished to play with their heads a bit, allow them to understand just what they were dealing with, allow them to see that this entire matter was under his control. From a good distance, he'd watched as they'd gone about their futile search, all holding loaded weapons. London's police force had been brought into a state of disarray for nothing. 

With the next round, though, they would come closer to obeying him. He would see to that.

He went into the closet where Carlotta was now reclining against the concrete wall with a look of utter misery in her eyes. He'd been very careful not to allow her to know where she was being kept. For all the wench knew, she was on the twentieth floor of an abandoned building. This hideaway was to remain a secret, and whether Ms. Glouer would emerge from all of this alive was still anyone's guess.

She looked up at him with fear as he approached her, her eyes widening even more as he took a small but sharp knife from his suit pocket. A sound between a scream and a moan escaped her throat as he knelt down beside her. She attempted to draw away from him, tucking her knees up against her torso, only to quickly run into the wall. "If you will excuse me," he began, his twisted lips forming a smile behind the mask, "I need a piece of you to send back to your dear relatives."

"No!" she screamed, attempting to struggle away despite her weakened state. She kicked at him with her bare feet. "Get away from me! No! No!"

"Oh. It will be very quick." He grabbed her by the arm with a gloved hand and pressed her bound wrists to the concrete floor, ignoring her shrieks of horror. Taking the blade of the knife, he held it directly over her right thumb. She released another high-pitched scream as the knife lightly grazed her flesh. "Now," he whispered. "Are you going to be silent when I tell you to be, Ms. Glouer? Are you going to cease your complaining and be grateful that I have not killed you yet?"

She nodded rapidly. "Yes," she begged. "God, yes. I'll do anything! Please! Please don't! Please…" Her voice was growing more hoarse with each plea. She was trembling. Tears were streaming freely down her cheeks; she could not wipe them away with her hands still bound.

The knife hovered there a moment longer, mere centimeters away from her flesh. Within an instant, he moved the blade away from her hand and grabbed a thick strand of red hair. He sliced it off just above the root, causing her to release a sharp yelp of fear. Perhaps she thought that he had cut into her skull.

"As though I would wish to deal with a large amount of blood and infection," he murmured, standing up with the strands of hair in hand. "But I trust you will be silent, Ms. Glouer? Otherwise I will bring the needle back." He paused. "And then perhaps cut both thumbs off while you are unconscious so that you do not scream into my ear."

She bobbed her head up and down. "I'll be quiet. I swear! I swear! I promise."

"Very good." He left her in a distraught heap and firmly shut the door. Although there would have been extreme satisfaction in the dismemberment of one of Oliver's relatives, he didn't think that his beloved angel would like the act. She would find it distasteful and upsetting, he imagined. Besides, there would be large quantities of blood and the likelihood of infection. The woman would sit there moaning and vomiting in pain. No. He didn't want to deal with it. The hair would do. For now.

He still hadn't found the note. He had no sign of his Christine, and each day, it was beginning to push him toward that fateful edge. There were memories. He had clear memories of her face…her gentle touches…her sweet voice speaking to him, telling him that she wanted him to come to her. It all felt so real. His mind told him that it was real.

But since when had his mind ever been accurate? Not for over a decade, certainly.

What if in reality she was married to de Chagny somewhere? _No. No. Please no. _That would destroy him. That boy had been given everything in life. _Everything._ He could not have Christine, too. Christine was _his_! She had stayed with him and cared for him. She had treated him like a human being. He had left men alive for her. _It was real. It was real. _

_I love her. I love her. _

_But where was she?_

There was another soft female moan from the closet. He turned around and stalked back into the small chamber. Two green eyes stared up at him with fear. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean to make a sound. Honestly. Please. I didn't mean to."

He bent down and grabbed the source of the female voice by the shoulders. "You are not her!" he yelled, shaking Carlotta back and forth like a rag doll. "You are not her! Not her! Where is she?"

Carlotta screamed and attempted to wriggle out of his grasp. "Please!" she begged. "Please don't kill me! Oh God, someone help me! Please! Please don't!"

With a soft cry of realization, he released her shoulders and leapt up from the ground. After racing out of the closet, he slammed the door behind him and looked upwards. The roar of automobiles was just barely audible as they passed along the streets above him. He could not stay in that unearthly darkness forever. It was beginning to devour his mind.


	37. The Value of Intelligence

Hey guys! I'm afraid that I wasn't clear about the 'note' that Erik is looking for. It's understandable why everyone is confused, as there are a lot of notes going around. If you'll look at Christine's scene in the last chapter, though, you'll see that she has the note that Erik wants. That means that Frederick and Leonie do not have that note. What do they have? That will be revealed in this chapter.

Also, I'd like to thank _Mereidia_, as her review gave me an idea for this next chapter. Without her idea, Erik would be a bit worse off than he already is ;)

As always, thank you for your continuing support of this story.

**Read and Review!!!**

His pile of supplies was growing larger, and his course of action was becoming more certain. Normally, the development of strategy and the careful designing of plans would have brought him a sadistic sort of satisfaction. It had been much that way during his first act of vengeance, roasting a man alive within his own furnace room. The results had brought him utter delight, for the media had displayed the gruesome details all over the front page of every newspaper.

At best, though, planning now only brought him calmness and allowed him to focus his tattered mind. There was no longer a constant supply of adrenaline that came from plotting, but keeping his brain occupied was better than allowing thoughts of her to make his chest feel as though it were being squeezed.

By sending back the strands of hair to Carlotta's elderly mother, he had set the police into action. He could just imagine their faces if he had actually sent them a thumb. It was still impossible for him to access Belmarsh, but there had been an increase in activity around the facility. He was also able to get into local police offices and find out recent instructions concerning security around the area. They were getting closer and closer to following his demands, knowing that they would be receiving even more pieces of Carlotta Glouer if they did not. And the second Nadir was released from the confines of the prison, all would quickly fall into place.

His night journeys to gather his cache of supplies posed few problems. The grey canisters glinted in the dim tunnel lighting, lined up in a precise row. And of course, his main weapon was always just behind the folds of his suit. He did not see how some death could be avoided. By this point, he didn't even know if he wanted to keep the body count low. If the days spent with his beloved had never even existed, were only a product of his warped mind, then Christine still only thought of him as a monster, anyway.

There was rustling in the closet as Carlotta shifted her position. Outside of the occasional sigh or moan, she had been silent. He still wasn't sure what to do with her. As he had told Ms. Glouer earlier, she was merely a pawn in this entire plan. But why kill or release her when she continued to be of use? It would just be a matter of keeping her alive.

Yes, alive.

He picked up a jug of water and poured some of the clear liquid into a metal bowl, before going into the closet and dropping the bowl upon the floor. Carlotta stared down at it. The last time, he had left a bottle of water with a straw.

"My hands are tied," she moaned. "How do I drink?"

"Bend down and lap it up," he hissed, turning to leave. "I learned to do so."

"I can't," she moaned.

"Hush!" He started to walk out.

"Are you going to kill me?" she suddenly whispered from behind him. "Are you?"

He froze, remembering when Christine had asked him a similar question. _Are you going to kill me, too?_ He might have done so on that very first night. After all, she had been nothing but a witness, in the wrong place at the wrong time. He'd left her alive only because having her made de Chagny more compliant. His blood chilled. What if he had murdered Christine on that night? It was certainly in the realm of possibility; he had readied the lasso.

_But he hadn't. I did not! I did not! I would never!_

Carlotta was still cowering on the floor, likely unnerved by his sudden silence. He looked down at her as his mind returned to him, ignoring her question. "If you are thirsty, then you will drink!" He left the room and closed the door, now with _her_ back on his mind.

There were still no traces of her, nothing to even prove her existence except the steady ache in his chest and the memories. He grabbed a stack of music sheets and began to desperately flip through them, again looking for evidence of her existence, for any peace of mind. A soft cry of anguish escaped his deformed lips as he neared the bottom with no success. Suddenly, a tiny piece of paper folded into a perfect square fell out of the stacks and onto the concrete. He snatched it into his skeletal hands, ripping it open in his franticness. Seeing that it was not the letter from Christine, he nearly hurled it away.

He stopped and looked down again. A weight slowly lifted from his chest as he read the words.

_**Christine Rebecca Daae **Age: 20 Single _

_Permanent Residence: Chicago, IL; Currently Vocal Performance Student at Boston University_

He remembered receiving it. The note was from the shady figure in the United States, and it was the letter that had led him to see her one last time. She had not wed the boy. And she was singing. That much was real. Needing more air, he untied the mask from his face and leaned against the wall. He closed his eyes, daring to hope that perhaps all of it was real, and that Christine was waiting somewhere for him. And that he could keep her as his own.

The time for action was nearing, and he knew that he could not do this forever. His lungs were beginning to ache again from the cold and pollution. It had been a problem he'd experienced ever since prison, when in frigid air or damp locations…or when extremely upset. Whether his haggard breathing was a lethal disease or just a mild chronic problem, he did not know. Before, he'd counted on the ailment to eventually kill him. But if it were actually possible for more moments with her to exist, he did not want to die. If he could have her again, be it for mere days or months or entire years, then he wanted to live for the equivalent time period.

He stared down at the equipment again. He would retrieve his comrade, just as he had always planned. That was something that he did have control over…this mindless chaos and strangulation and battle. It was all so much simpler than _her_, than feeling.

He heard the soft swish of water from the closet and knew that Ms. Glouer had decided to bend her head down and drink. That, of course, was expected. In the end, almost any creature would abandon every bit of its dignity in order to survive.

* * *

"A hairclip," murmured Oliver, staring into a plate of lobster chops and mashed potatoes. 

"Your niece's?" suggested Leonie, delicately picking apart a slice of pink salmon.

Frederick scoffed. "Carlotta wouldn't wear anything that cheap! It is certainly not hers."

Leonie shrugged. "Who knows, then? Maybe it's nothing. Or maybe he has a fetish for hair accessories." She snickered.

Oliver muttered something to himself and shook his head. "He sent my niece's hair to my poor ailing sister and threatened to do worse if we didn't comply with him. That fiend _will_ do worse, too." He sighed. "They are going to begin preparations for a mass attack. The plan is to fake an exchange but make it look real up to the very last minute."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning they bring that other man-Khan, I think- as bait. Armed men will be waiting behind every bush, tree, and building. They think that Mr. Khan may end up dead, too, with all the shooting."

"Pity," joked Leonie.

"Indeed," agreed Oliver. "That would be two annoyances off my hands if it works." He shook his head and set down his fork. "Somehow, though, I have my doubts. It is too easy."

"Well, what do you think they should do?" she asked with sincere interest.

"I don't know. But too much is under _his_ control right now."

She thoughtfully nodded. "A hairclip," she murmured, taking a sip of red wine. Leonie began to nibble on her thumb nail, a habit that came into play whenever she was in deep thought. She had mastered a concept that some women have trouble with: maintaining a feminine façade over her intelligence. She could tell you of the latest fashions in Europe and squeal over a miniature poodle, all the while plotting a strategy on how to hide some of the corporation's dirtiest secrets.

Frederick smirked. Nearly fifteen years ago, she had been the one to fly to the United States to convince Louis de Chagny and James Lawrence of why it was necessary to hide the freak. It had been about a month before they'd confined the monster to prison, and Louis was still firmly against the idea. Leonie had provided Frederick with the details of the meeting.

The three of them were sitting in Louis' plush home office. Leonie had finally convinced Lawrence of why the entire thing was necessary; James hadn't wanted his beloved wife to know of his involvement. Like the others, he also wasn't ready to give up his garnered wealth. Louis was still against the plan, even threatening to get the government involved. "It is a man's life!" he had exclaimed. "Haven't we ruined it enough?"

Leonie had leaned back into the leather sofa, attempting to handle him in a delicate manner. "Louis," she gently began. "Everything rests on this. People's job, our entire company, our wealth. You're going to give all of that up for one ethical conflict?"

"It's practically murder!"

"No, dear. It's really not. We are not going to kill him. In fact, he's probably better off in prison, you know?" She attempted that angle. "He'll always have a roof over his head and food. Daily exercise. I mean, no one would ever actually hire someone who looked like that."

"Maybe _we_ should hire him," Louis had practically growled, running his hands over his aging face.

"Oh, don't be childish," retorted Leonie, beginning to lose her patience.

"She's right, Louis," Lawrence had wearily offered, appearing miserable from his place in the corner. "Perhaps we need to put this into perspective. Maybe it isn't so terrible."

Louis had started to give another angry retort, when his youngest son walked into the room. The boy had to be around eight or nine years old at the time. "Dad?" he asked, his blonde head peeking into the office.

Louis had tiredly looked up. "What is it, Raoul? I'm in a meeting right now."

Leonie smiled, already beginning to formulate an idea. "Hello, young man. How are you?"

"I'm fine, Ma'am." He'd turned back to his father. "I have a friend over. Is that okay?"

"You know I don't like visitors when your mother isn't feeling well."

"But she's really nice! You'd like her! She even sings! And she had to come over from really far away."

"Well, that is just lovely, isn't it? A little girlfriend," cooed Leonie. "Let her stay, Louis. Don't be mean." She'd winked at Raoul.

"Fine," said Louis with a sigh. "She can stay. Just try to stay quiet, son."

"I will, Dad." He ran out of the room. Louis winced and shook his head as Raoul's voice reverberated throughout the large home. "He says that you can stay!"

"Yay! Your house is _huge_!"

And at the sweet sound of innocence in its prime, Leonie began to work her magic.

"He's really a handsome boy," she had stated, turning back to de Chagny. "Already quite popular with the ladies, it seems."

Louis nodded. "He is a good boy."

"And he really has a bright future," she continued. "A fine home. The best of colleges. Any wife that he wants. A title."

"Yes. Well…I have tried to do what is best for both my sons."

Leonie went in for the kill. "And you want to destroy that future because of some _thing _that can't even walk down the street in broad daylight."

Louis had glared at her, but pained realization was now evident in his eyes. "We're still talking about a young man's life, you know. Destroying it, really. How can I even look at myself in the mirror anymore if I do this?"

Leonie had sighed. "Louis. If this gets discovered, we'll all go bankrupt. Do you want your sons living on the streets? All of our family names ruined? That face….have you even seen it, Louis?"

"Just photos," he softly replied. "It is a horror. But we are responsible for it."

"And if we do not get sued for everything we own, we can fix the problem. We've already started. Change a few filters, get some drainage…anything. But this…this must be taken care of now, dear Louis." She paused. "And we need to know that you're on our team."

"I…" The sound of the two laughing children came from down the hall. Louis stopped speaking and closed his eyes.

"I have a _Nintendo_!"

"I want to be the pink princess!"

"You can't be the princess, though. She only gets rescued from the monster's lair at the end of the game." A door closed, and there was silence.

Louis opened his eyes and cast a helpless glance at Lawrence. His friend shrugged and shook his head. "Yes," Louis had finally whispered, staring at the ground with defeat. "I will agree for the sake of my family. Even if I am damning myself."

Leonie arose from her chair and took his hand. "Louis. You are damning no one. This is really the best choice that we have."

Louis shrugged. "I will make arrangements to fly out there." He'd paused. "Try to make it as…un-brutal as possible. For my sake. And…and _his_."

"_Of course, love. We'll do all we can." _

And that is why Frederick Oliver was rather fond of Leonie. She had known that Louis' weakest spot lay in his love for his children. Only a woman would understand something like that.

"Frederick?" she asked after a second, breaking him from his thoughts. She took another sip of wine. "Mr. Khan refuses to talk, correct?"

"Yes," he muttered.

"Wasn't there another man arrested with him?"

"Yes," repeated Frederick. "Darius. He was a bit more willing, but he didn't know anything of use…didn't know where the monster was hiding."

"Perhaps we have not asked him all the right questions," she murmured.

"What do you mean?"

"Just that a few puzzle pieces have come together." She smiled. "And I'd like to see if they form a pretty picture."

* * *

The man in the suit and tie was still talking after twenty minutes, going on about some nonsense involving criminal trial proceedings and plea bargains, while continuously adjusting his black toupee. Nadir, however, was already lost in his own thoughts. He didn't even notice the armed guard behind him or the frigid temperature of the dim room. 

_Erik is alive! Allah knows where he has been all this time, but he is alive! _

He had also gone to the trouble of kidnapping Ms. Glouer, which told Nadir that Erik was being careful with his plans. He wasn't being reckless or suicidal.

"Mr. Khan?" The man was staring at him with irritation. "If you value your life, you had better answer me."

"What was the question?" Nadir calmly asked.

The man released an exasperated sigh. "Will you cooperate in this exchange? If you do, perhaps you will get a fair trial in this country. If not, I can't even promise that you will survive the ordeal. There are going to be dozens of men with sophisticated weapons."

Nadir hesitated, trying to imagine what Erik had planned. It was impossible to guess, but Mr. Khan could only assume that getting out from behind the prison walls would be the best path. "Yes. I will cooperate."

The man nodded, although there was still a frown of uncertainty upon his face. "Very good, then. You'll be given more information as you need it."

For the rest of the day, Nadir paced within the prison cell. Although worry pervaded his mind, he also dared to have some hope. For the situation to be coming to this, Erik must have gained the upper hand. Guards continued to walk past his cell, and the little green light on the security camera was always flashing. An energy crackled through the air, reminding Nadir that the night could end in disaster.

As the evening approached, four armed guards silently approached his cell, their black boots clicking upon the dusty linoleum. "Turn around and put your hands on the wall," calmly commanded one. Nadir obeyed, his heart rate increasing and his stomach clenching. His wrists were handcuffed behind his back and his feet were shackled. His pride was wounded, but he knew that cooperation was the best choice. And he could only guess that Erik had been through something a thousand times worse than this.

As he was walked down the corridor with the chains clinking at his every step, he was continuously given one-word commands. _Stop. Go. Turn._ He glanced into some of the other cells, wondering what these men had done to earn a place in this nightmare. Many of them looked like foreigners. The guards finally unlocked a pair of lime-green double doors, and Nadir let out a soft gasp as he found himself outside. He inhaled a breath of cold night air, feeling his mind and lungs begin to clear. Even the dead brown grass on the sides of the concrete walkway was pleasant to look at. A half moon peeked out from behind a cloud, and Nadir couldn't help but slightly smile.

If it felt this wonderful to be out after only a few months, he could only imagine what it had been like for Erik. As he was taken to an awaiting white van with barred windows, Nadir recalled the night that he had first seen Erik after ten years of believing that his comrade was dead. Hatred had burned from the yellow eyes, but anger wasn't nearly the extent of the damage. Erik had constantly twitched and flinched, as though tiny insects were nibbling at his flesh. His eyes had wandered without pause, and it was impossible for him to stop pacing and stay still. Even his fingers were always bending and unclenching. He would often mutter and gesture to himself. When Nadir had attempted to ask him questions, Erik's answers were nearly nonsensical.

_Erik? Where have you been all this time?_

_Everywhere, Nadir! I go everywhere, you see. I can do anything. Watch what I can do, Nadir! They will never forget Erik!_

Erik had then disappeared. About a month later, the first massacre had taken place. Over time, the blatant insanity faded and was replaced by a single-minded quest for revenge. He had escaped his madness by finding a point of focus. Nadir wondered how many Erik had killed in those last five or so years. More than fifty souls was probable. Especially in the beginning, Erik had snapped the neck of anyone who threatened him in his missions, who even caught a glimpse of him. He had saved some of the more gruesome deaths for the members of _Falcon._ Lawrence was the exception, as it was necessary to make his murder look like suicide.

Abruptly pushing the morbid thoughts from his mind, Nadir watched the aging brick buildings pass through the windows of the van, wondering how this night would end. Pedestrians turned to watch the small convoy of police vehicles. There was no doubt that other law enforcement task forces were hiding in the alleyways and shadows. If Erik were to make his presence known, he would have at least fifty men firing shots at him. They likely even had snipers on the top floors of some of the buildings.

After nearly twenty more minutes, the van stopped. Nadir took a deep breath, scanning the shadows for anything unusual. There was nothing. His door was unlocked, but he was motioned to remain inside the vehicle.

Someone in a black uniform came out front with a bullhorn and pointed it toward the dilapidated brick building in front of them. Boards had been nailed over some of the windows, and the roof was beginning to cave in. An eerie quiet settled over the atmosphere.

From the corner of his eye, Nadir swore that he saw a flash of yellow in the darkness.

He held his breath and waited.


	38. Abracadabra

This chapter is a tad depressing. I do hope you'll hold on with me through these more angsty chapters, as I have some exciting things planned for this phic. As always, thank you for your wonderful and encouraging reviews.

**Read and Review!!!**

Christine was forced to watch almost the exact same scene play out in front of her, only this time she was sitting on the couch with her knees hugged up to her chest. The reports of another attempt at a hostage negotiation had not come in until early that morning, and she had stayed at home with the television on for the rest of the day. Little was said about what was occurring on the screen, as much of the mission was kept in secrecy. It was currently evening in London and therefore difficult to even get a clear view. All she could see were a few cars and a white van parked in front of a decrepit brick building. A few men in black uniforms and bulletproof vests had climbed out of the vehicles and were standing on the street with a bullhorn.

"We know very little about what's happening down there," stated the middle-aged anchorman as he shuffled through his papers. "Only that some kind of meeting is taking place in another attempt to rescue famed singer Carlotta Glouer. The police have kept this quiet, and so we're left to believe that it's a complex operation."

"Yes," agreed a younger female reporter in London. "We can only guess that some of the city's finest task forces are out here today. They're used to handling just about everything from armed robberies to terrorism. Considering the unusual and dangerous methods of the kidnapper, though, police say that they need all the help they can get."

"It would seem so," replied the anchorman. "While we're waiting to see if this attempt actually amounts to anything, let's talk about the history behind this. Is it safe to say that this case is still mostly shrouded in mystery?"

"Yes, Tom," she replied. "It really is. We don't know much about the kidnapper's motives beyond the fact that he wants his cohort out of prison. Of course, there's also a possible connection to the death of millionaire James Lawrence and the kidnapping of the young couple last spring."

"Any more insight into that?" asked the anchorman.

Christine prayed that they knew absolutely nothing.

"I'm afraid not," replied the reporter. "Our best guess right now is that this is just the work of a psychopath with some sort of strange vendetta against society."

Christine rubbed her temples in frustration, wishing that she knew more about Erik's motives. It would be easier to listen to this if she could just understand his hatred. _Psychopath. Madman. Monster. Fiend._ The cruel labels flew out at her from the television and the radio on a daily basis. It was both strange and horrible to know that they were talking about the man who had taught her to sing…with whom she had spent long hours immersed in quiet conversation, whom she had gently kissed, whom she loved. At the same time, she knew that more people had died at Erik's hands, possibly men with wives and children.

Still, she prayed for his safety. Every time another policeman stepped forward or someone climbed out of a car, she flinched. Each passing minute was agonizing. _If this could all just end, this death and terror and revenge, if he would just come back to me…_

Was that too much to ask for?

_Stupid little girls and their happy endings... _

Several minutes ticked by.

"Well, I'm afraid that it looks like yet another dead end," said the anchorman with an expression of disgust. "According to police, the building is empty. More frustration for the city's authorities, and more pain for Ms. Glouer's family."

Christine watched as the cars and van began to form a line, before slowly driving away from the brick building, their headlights illuminating the roads and structures. Her throbbing heart slowing began to calm down. She was both relieved that this incident was over and frightened by the thought that more of them would follow. A feeling of helplessness again descended over her. She nearly wished that she could stop caring, could just let him go and get on with her life. Nearly every moment of her time was spent fretting over whether he was still alive. For all she knew, he would never come back.

But she couldn't stop caring. And if someone had given her a plane ticket and a passport at that moment, she would have grabbed a suitcase and flown to London.

She started to get up and do some more packing. Sorting through all her old possessions was somewhat calming and allowed her to focus on something else for at least a few hours. The house hadn't officially been sold, but there were several people who had expressed interest. She wanted to get everything out of there before she headed back to Boston. Those items that she couldn't take with her were going to be thrown away or given to charity.

As she turned to go into the kitchen to begin packing some silverware, the previous anchorman's voice cut into the current broadcast. "Excuse me, Anna. We're going to jump back in here. There's more breaking news out of London."

With wide eyes, Christine flew back to the couch and focused on the screen, her fingers digging into the cushioned armrest. At first, she could see nothing but a mass of grayness and briefly wondered if something was wrong with the television picture. And then she understood. The entire view was obscured by thick clouds of gray and white smoke. As the camera focused out, she could see that the plumes were limited to a large section of the road. The smoke was thick enough to block out the light from the streetlamps, thereby encasing the buildings and streets in complete darkness.

"I can't even begin to tell you what's going on," said the anchorman. "Except that this is definitely not the famed London fog. We have one report of an explosion but nothing yet confirmed. We're just watching with the rest of you and trying to get information as it comes in."

"Oh my God," muttered Christine to herself, feeling her hands begin to tremble.

"All right," said the anchorman. "We've got our reporter back on the line. Do we know if this is something caused by law enforcement?"

"If the police did do this, they gave no warning to the media," she replied.

"Can you see what's going on down there?"

"Occasionally, I can see someone running through the smoke. All of us in the press are keeping a distance right now, though." There was a very long pause as the smoke continued to rise. "That was a gunshot!" the woman suddenly exclaimed, glancing backward. "I just heard a couple of shots fired down there."

"No!" yelped Christine. She stared into the grey clouds, only able to occasionally make out the faint silhouettes of people racing around on the ground.

"We now have reports of some injuries," stated the anchorman. "Whether it's from the gunfire or smoke inhalation or something else entirely is impossible to say as of right now. More ambulances are on their way to the scene." A pause. "I have no reports of structural damage or flames, and so I'm hesitant to say if there was a large explosion involved."

Christine jumped at the sound of the high-pitched ring of the telephone. After steadying herself, she answered. "Hello," she numbly murmured.

"Christine," her ex-fiancé stated, his voice laced with worry. "Are you watching it?"

"Yeah," she softly replied, still transfixed by the images.

"It's terrible, isn't it? Can you believe this?"

"Yeah," she replied. "I guess we'll just have to see what happens." It was comforting to hear a familiar and warm voice, but she didn't want to give anything away in her current state of panic.

"Do you think _he's_ responsible?"

"I don't know, Raoul."

"I don't even want to guess what the death toll's going to be. Or what's happened to Frederick's niece."

Christine didn't reply, continuing to listen to the television. Raoul also became silence as they both waited for the smoke to clear and to see what was hidden beneath it. The ground slowly became more visible. She saw some people still running around with flashlights in hand, and a few souls were lying on the ground. Were they injured or dead? _What if one of them was Erik?_ She took a shaky breath.

"We have just gotten a new report," gravely stated the anchorman. Christine gripped the edges of the couch. "Our sources tell us that the prisoner in the hostage exchange, Mr. Nadir Khan, has disappeared from the scene. We are still verifying the information, but it appears that the prisoner may be gone."

It took her a moment to understand. If Nadir had escaped, then that meant…

A soft cry of joy escaped Christine's lips, and tears of relief formed at the corners of her eyes. Raoul took her reaction to be one of distress. "I know!" he exclaimed. "I can't believe he got away again. This is crazy. They didn't even get Carlotta back!"

She continued to stare at the T.V. screen with renewed hope as the police desperately searched the fading smoke for Mr. Khan. Of course, he was completely gone. As her heartbeat began to slow down, she attempted to calm her friend. "Raoul," she softly began, hiding the happiness and relief in her voice. "Whatever happens over there doesn't matter. He doesn't care about you…or us anymore. He let us go, remember?"

"I just want it all to end," he replied. "I'm not going to sleep in peace knowing that he's still out there. And Carlotta! Frederick must be going crazy. It's like a nightmare that won't end."

Christine sighed. "Maybe Carlotta will be okay. We'll just have to wait and see. But you're going to be fine."

"You don't think he'll try to come back here?"

"No," she gently replied. At the bottom of the screen, the station stated that there were six injuries, one of them extremely critical. So far, there had been no deaths.

"Christine? You don't think he might try to finish the job?"

"No. I think you're going to be fine. I think that you're safe."

"What about you?" he softly asked.

Christine blinked, wondering if he knew something. The question had seemed innocent, though. "I'm going to be just fine, too." She paused. "Maybe you should get some sleep. You sound really tired."

"Yeah. Maybe so."

"Take care."

"You, too."

Christine hung up the phone and leaned back into the cushions. They were now showing prison photos of Nadir upon the screen, hoping that city-dwellers would recognize him. Police were frantically searching the entire area.

It suddenly occurred to her that this wasn't going to get better, at least not for a very long time. Still, at least she could breathe a little easier that night. The knowledge that Nadir was now with Erik was somehow comforting. At least he wasn't alone.

After waiting for a few more moments to ensure that no more breaking news came in, she got up and went to her father's desk. Pulling the stack of papers out and laying them on the tabletop, she grabbed a pen and took another step forward, a cold wave of resolve partially numbing the ever-present fear and anxiety.

* * *

Disappointment had overtaken Nadir as the cars and van had turned around to leave. No one had been inside the building. The police had called up to the top floors, announcing their willingness to negotiate and exchange prisoners. They had desperately pled with Erik to not harm Carlotta and told him that they were following his demands. There had been no response. As darkness had neared, the authorities had given up and decided to leave. 

Nadir had stared out the window of the vehicle, feeling a heaviness in his chest as he thought of returning to that tiny prison cell. This was probably the last time he would be out again until his trial. The shackles jingled as he shifted his legs for comfort. Looking into the shadows that passed by the window, he swore that he saw another flash of yellow, but maybe it was just wishful thinking. He had laid his head back on the uncomfortable leather headrest and closed his eyes, attempting to mentally escape the dismal situation.

Just as he had started to fall into a light doze, the van had stopped. "What's going on up there?" the driver had asked into his two-way radio.

"One of the tires has a bad leak," replied the driver of the leading car. "Just go around us."

"All right." The van started to move forward, before stopping after only a few meters. "Now what?" the driver asked with frustration.

"Something's wrong with the tires," replied a different voice.

"I know. I thought we were going around them."

"That was the first car. This is now in the second car, Sir. Both cars are having problems."

"_What?_"

Nadir had opened his eyes and bent his neck to look outside as the officers attempted to sort out the problems. He sniffed the air, smelling a faint and bitter odor coming through the heaters. The smell grew stronger, and he could hear the officers up front begin to cough. It was quickly growing darker, so much so that Nadir couldn't even see two feet into the distance. He suddenly realized that large clouds of smoke were filling the air. A deep booming noise from nearby caused the van to vibrate.

Two of the officers had jumped out of the vehicle, holding their breaths and reaching for their weapons. Fearing suffocation, Nadir desperately searched for some kind of escape from the backseat, his throat beginning to burn. The front seat was barred off from him. "Open the door!" he yelled to the only officer that was still visible. He was either unheard or ignored. Nadir began to try to open the side door with his cuffed hands, horrible fumes engulfing his nostrils.

"Calm down, Mr. Khan!" yelled the officer, noticing his struggle. The uniformed man held up a gun with a frantic expression on his face. "Remain seated!"

"But I-"

"Stay where you are!" he screamed, readying the firearm. Nadir flinched backward to avoid winding up with a bullet in his heart. Suddenly, the officer's eyes widened with horror. He immediately dropped the weapon and began to claw at his neck, struggling to breathe the polluted air. After only a moment, his face paled and his eyes rolled back into his skull. He finally collapsed beside the van.

Nadir sat there staring in shock. His door was soon unlocked and opened, and he looked up to see two little golden lights glowing down at him through the grey plumes. Completely clad in black, his masked comrade might have passed for a policeman in the smoke and darkness. At the moment, no one else was there. "Erik," he whispered, thankfully.

"I believe that it is time for us to leave," calmly stated the familiar tenor voice "Avoid breathing."

"I am shackled," Nadir rasped. "My wrists and ankles."

Erik took a sharp object from his pocket and knelt down. Within seconds, he had the shackles and handcuffs picked off and laying on the ground in a silver heap. An echoing gunshot went off somewhere, and another one soon followed. The yellow eyes glowed. "Run directly left," he stated. "Then down a flight of stairs. You will be able to see by that time. Follow me. Do not slow down."

Nadir nodded, and they took off into the smoke. Several more shots were fired. Erik ran at a slower pace than he was capable of, which allowed Nadir to keep up with him. Adrenaline pushed them both forward as they pounded down a flight of metal stairs. The air became even colder. Nadir didn't even know where he was going, blindly following the shadow in front of him and praying that Erik had a clear plan of escape. They ran upstairs, downstairs, into a dirty basement…through several vacant office complexes and what appeared to be the corridors of a school.

At one point, they passed a nighttime cleaning woman in one of the office buildings. She was younger, her blonde hair done up in a messy bun. Letting out a sharp gasp, she dropped a mop and threw herself against the wall. To Nadir's surprise, Erik stopped and stared at her for several seconds. The woman's blue eyes widened in horror, and Nadir was certain that Erik was going to kill her for merely being a witness. After a moment, though, his masked comrade reluctantly tore his gaze away from the woman and continued to move forward, much to both her and Nadir's relief.

They were soon outside again, running through a puddle-filled alley and over cracked asphalt. A few sirens wailed in the distance, but Erik paid them no attention. Nadir's lungs were beginning to burn from the exertion, and he slowed down significantly as a sharp cramp formed in his side. "Move," rasped Erik. "We are near."

Taking a deep breath of air, Nadir forced himself forward, stumbling over a broken glass bottle and dodging behind a chain link fence. They ran down another flight of concrete stairs and were soon encased in even more darkness. Erik jumped down a short ledge and onto a set of iron tracks, before climbing up the other side. Realizing where they were, Nadir quickly did the same, wincing as he roughly hit the ground. Caves of concrete now surrounded him, with only a few lamps to light the way. In the distance, there was a deep rumbling noise.

"The subway tunnels," Nadir murmured, looking around. "Amazing. We should have done that originally." Erik didn't reply, continuing forward and through several more twists and turns of brick walls and stairwells. Finally, he abruptly stopped at an old platform, his back still toward Nadir and his thin shoulders heaving. "Is this it?"

Erik nodded once, before leaning back against the wall and gesturing to their surroundings. "It is the best for now," he stated, his breath slightly ragged. "And there are several escape routes if someone attempts to come down. The echoes are ideal for hearing intruders."

Nadir took a long and deep breath as it all slowly sunk in. _He was free._ "Excellent." He shook his head as his heartbeat slowly calmed, beginning to feel an ache in his legs from running. "Well, I do not know what took you so long, but…I am grateful. It is good to be out." Erik said nothing. Nadir noticed a strange glint in his comrade's eyes. He couldn't identify it except to say that it wasn't the normal cold indifference.

A soft groan came from behind one of the doors. "Is someone else there?" cried out a woman.

Nadir winced and sighed. At least Ms. Glouer was still alive. He wondered what Erik's plans for her were. He would at least check on her condition, and perhaps attempt to convince Erik to let her live. Nadir was tired of death.

"That woman is near to being strangled," muttered Erik, still staring down at the tracks. "Perhaps you will have more luck silencing her, before I permanently do."

"Maybe so," replied Nadir, continuing to study his friend. "Where exactly have you been all this time?"

Erik sickly chuckled, tilting his head back against the brick wall. "Ah, Nadir! I have been asking myself that question for weeks."

Nadir frowned. "You don't know where you've been?"

"No."

"Well, have you been in London? Or…?"

"I told you that I do not know!" Erik snapped, before suddenly falling back against the wall with a sharp intake of breath. Nadir dared to walk closer, squinting down at his comrade with concern. He could just barely see the stain. The expanding circle was nearly invisible on the black pants leg of Erik's suit. "What?" he snarled as Nadir hunched down beside him. Mr. Khan could hear clear distress in his voice; he could hear pain.

"Erik," began Nadir, attempting to keep calm. "I…I think that you have been injured."


	39. In Good Company

Hello guys. School is back in, and so that always makes updates a little less certain. I'll try to continue to get out a chapter per week, though.

Sometimes when I'm read a phic, I enjoy seeing photos and drawings of characters or settings in the story. While browsing the Internet, I found a picture of someone I kind of envision as Christine. I have put a link to the picture in my profile. If you prefer to keep your own images of how the characters look, then that's just fine. She looks pretty happy and carefree in the picture. Maybe it takes place at the very beginning of the story, right before she was going to marry Raoul? I'll let you decide, though ;)

**Read and Review!!!**

Erik didn't even bother to glance down at the possible wound. "Yes, Nadir. It appears that I have been."

Nadir clenched his jaw, unnerved by Erik's indifference toward his own health. "Do you think that you were shot? Is there a great deal of pain or pressure?"

He waved his hand with disinterest. "It is trivial, Nadir. Just a minor injury. Do not start enquiring into my state of health, or I will regret my little escapade tonight." Erik started to take a step forward with his right leg, immediately releasing a soft hiss of pain when he put weight upon the limb. He quietly cursed and leaned against the wall again, momentarily closing his eyes.

Nadir sighed. "Erik. Let me take a look. Let me see how bad it is. I've had medical training, both in school and in the police force."

"Will you let me be!" he snapped through gritted teeth. "I am fine!"

Mr. Khan had spent long months in prison, wasting away in a tiny cell and losing hope as each day passed. He was tired, and he was agitated. If Erik fell gravely ill, Nadir knew that he wouldn't be able to get out of this mess by himself. He would either starve to death in the tunnels or be shot by the authorities. And so he took his chances with the Punjab lasso, instead. "Erik! I cannot have you dying down here of an infection. If you are going to kill yourself, at least do not make me wait through days of you writhing on the floor in agony as your skin rots off! Now please permit me to look!"

His masked companion said nothing. Erik merely crossed his bony arms and continued to lean against the wall, his yellow eyes now focused on the ground. Nadir swallowed, before kneeling down onto one knee against the cold concrete. He grasped the bottom of Erik's pants leg, nervously glancing upward to see if he was anywhere near to having his neck snapped. Erik remained motionless, though. Slowly, Nadir lifted the black material, noticing now that there were several jagged tears in the back. It took all of his remaining energy to keep from flinching and turning away.

The patches of undamaged skin were nearly white, with the occasional purple vein curving upwards. The rest of the flesh was twisted and stretched with red and white scars of various shapes and sizes. There were spirals, ribbons, and crosses…all coming together to form a grotesque collage of mangled and tortured flesh. There were purple bruises that had never quite healed right, leaving parts of the skin unnaturally rough or soft. Nadir forced himself to not think about who or what had caused this, although he did thank Allah that he had been so fortunate during his stay in prison. Instead, he raised the pants leg a little more to find the fresh wound.

Following a narrow trail of blood, he located the newly-maimed skin at the back of the calf. He studied the torn flesh. The wound was especially painful because it was so near to the muscle, although Nadir couldn't tell if it had done real damage. "It does not appear to be a bullet," he stated. "Did you catch your leg on something sharp? Let us pray that it wasn't rusted metal." He squinted down.

"Perhaps I did not separate myself far enough from the explosive device," Erik stated with irritation. "That is all."

"You used a _real_ bomb?"

"A small, bright one! It was merely for distraction. I had more, but they remained unnecessary."

Nadir shook his head. It was sometimes frightening what Erik could acquire with such little effort. He turned his attention back to the injury. "It needs to be cleaned out and bandaged. Disinfected if possible. And I require better lighting to see if there's any metal or other material embedded into the skin."

"I will do so myself." Erik refused to look down, perhaps not wishing to see the carnage that made up his body. "I have dealt with much worse. Do not concern yourself. Better yet, do not make yourself ill."

Nadir sickly nodded and withdrew his hands, wishing he had a rag to wipe off the sticky redness. The loose pants leg fell back into position. "Is there any place to get supplies? Or food?"

"I save your sorry self, and you begin with your endless questions. There are several stores around the area, and there is little security around at night. I will go when I am ready."

"You are able?"

"_Yes!_"

"Very well." Nadir stood up and tiredly rubbed his eyes, wondering what it was going to be like to sleep down there. He looked toward the closed door, realizing that there was someone who was in an even more miserable condition than they were. "I believe I will take a look at Ms. Glouer," he casually stated.

Erik didn't move. "Do not tell her where she is."

Nadir nodded and continued to the room. He hesitantly opened the door, wrinkling his nose at the unpleasant odor inside. The normally well-groomed woman was now dirty and pale, with dark rings around her eyes and unhealthily protruding cheekbones. "Oh!" she exclaimed as she looked up. Her eyes widened with hope, before narrowing again in despair. "Oh. Oh no. You are that other man. You help _him_."

He knelt down beside her, sighing as he realized that her hands were bound. "You will be fine," he gently stated. "You will live through this. Please calm down. I will get you food soon."

She shook her head and bitterly looked away. "I don't deserve this!" she exclaimed. "Please let me go! I don't want to be here! Let me go! I hate you!" Tears began to stream down her dirty cheeks, and several panicked sobs escaped the back of her throat.

"Calm down!" he hissed, nervously glancing backward. "You will be fine if you stay quiet. You will live through this."

"Do you promise that I won't die?" she frantically asked. "Will you help me?"

"Yes. Simply stay calm. Do not agitate him. I will attempt to make you more comfortable."

"He is so monstrous," she whispered. "Keep me away from him! I hate him!"

Nadir sighed. "It is-No. Never mind. You do not know. No one ever will, I suppose. Just be still for a while longer, and this will be nothing but a nightmare. I am begging you to stay quiet for your own sake, though. Do you understand?" She weakly nodded and managed to refrain from sobbing. Nadir stood and made his way from the storage closet, softly shutting the door behind him. "What do you wish to do with Ms. Glouer?"

"She is rather ideal for luring Oliver," replied Erik. "Perhaps he will come here after this night." He paused. "Or perhaps he would truly not exchange his own life for hers. Perhaps we should just kill…" He paused again. "Ah. But _she_ would not like it, would she? She would not let me come back to her."

"What?"

"Nothing," he muttered.

Nadir looked at him curiously, attempting to interpret the very odd glint in his comrade's eyes. The nonsensical phrases disturbed him. "We will keep Ms. Glouer here as long as she is in stable health, but…" Nadir stopped speaking, now noticing that Erik was tightly grasping onto a folded piece of paper with his right hand. "What is that?"

He expected another sarcastic retort, but Erik was very silent for several moments. "I wish to know where I was."

"As do I," replied Nadir, taking a seat on the cold floor. "Do you know if you left London?"

"Yes. I am very certain that I did now. There were many mice on the boat. Little grey mice."

"Where did you go?"

"To paradise." He madly laughed and threw Nadir the piece of paper.

Mr. Khan caught the note and quickly unfolded it, his eyes widening as he read it two times. "Her? You were with…Christine…" He paused and looked down again. "Christine Daae?"

"My mind says that I was, but my mind is a curious thing sometimes." He chuckled again.

"What exactly did you…I mean…did she know that you were there?" Nadir felt an unpleasant sensation gathering in his stomach.

"Yes," he replied. "I did not intend for her to see. Or perhaps I did. But she wished to; she asked me to come out. She was singing again. Or she could not sing and was in need of my assistance. And she was…very kind, Nadir. She did not tell anyone."

"What did she do?" Nadir enquired, worrying for his companion's sanity.

"She asked me to stay for awhile. She left that unworthy boy, you know? He could do nothing at all for her." He paused. "And Nadir…I think that…I think that she kissed me! On the head. And on the hands. I think so. It is all very vivid. I see it! And she did not leave after my face. Oh, she could not look, of course. No one can do that. But she did not leave. I fear I frightened her when I yelled, but it was simply…She still asked me to come back …She did. She will have an apartment. For us!"

Nadir just stood there staring. "Erik," he gently began. "Perhaps the injury is already infected. Or perhaps you are ill from this coldness. Many people have delusions. I suggest that we wash out the wound immediately, though." He reached for a nearby jug of water and searched for a piece of cloth.

"You do not believe me," Erik gravely stated, clenching his fingers. His eyes dimmed to the point where the yellow glow was almost extinguished. "Good, then. Very good. Continue to tell me that it was not real…that such a thing is impossible. Continue to do so, Nadir. Or perhaps you should leave me to my blissful insanity. I do love…" He paused. "These delusions. Yes. Yes. Just leave me down here with them." He kicked the jug of water away with the uninjured leg, but Nadir caught it before it tipped over. "There is no point in that."

Nadir turned his head to wipe away a tear, before quickly composing himself. "Erik. Let us get your leg taken care of so that we may get out of here. This place is not healthy. I am sure you will figure out where you were soon."

"I played cards with her. I did. And she enjoyed the tricks. Remember the tricks from India, Nadir? And she stayed. She stayed for many hours! And there was the violin!" Erik's voice was frantic and desperate; his hands grasped at the air, as though attempting to hold onto something that wasn't there.

Nadir froze, wondering with horror if this was all some type of twisted metaphor for…"Erik? You did not go there and…" He choked. "Is Christine still…Is she still alive?" As soon as the accusation was out of his mouth, he felt a pair of cold hands wrap around his neck. He choked as his airway was restricted. "Please!" he begged, attempting to twist away from the icy grip. The yellow eyes burned with a strange anger.

Finally, Erik released his hold and lay back against the wall again, his eyes staring straight ahead and his chest heaving. "She would not like it if I killed you," he whispered. "But if you ever imply that again, I will."

Nadir quickly backed away and rubbed his aching neck, all the while praying that Erik had not permanently lost his mind.

* * *

Just as Christine had finally begun to feel hopeful again, the following days brought disturbing news. Fresh blood had been smeared against the walls and doors of a building that was nearby the chaotic incident. It did not belong to any of the officers. By comparing it with a sample obtained from Nadir while he was in prison, the blood was determined not to be Mr. Khan's. That left few alternatives. Her heart had clenched upon hearing this 'good' news. Several tears had fallen from her eyes as she attempted not to panic. The only consolation was that it had been a minimal amount of blood, not enough to signify a life-threatening injury. 

_And he still got away. But what if he was lying somewhere injured? _

There was also a witness, a girl who had been cleaning an office building that was a good distance from the crime scene. "I saw him," the girl told the camera. "He was really tall! And he had hands like a skeleton. And these awful yellow eyes. He floated close to me. Like only a meter away. I was so scared! I couldn't even scream I was so scared!"

"Why do you think he went on past you?" asked the reporter. "Why do you think you're alive today?"

"I don't know!" she replied with a shrug. "Maybe he didn't have time, what with running away and all."

Christine shook her head, watching as the rest of the world attempted to figure out the enigma of Erik. Thankfully, the death toll was still set at zero. Even the policeman with the severe neck injury was going to survive.

The previous afternoon, she had finished filling out the passport application and gathered all the necessary paperwork and photos together. She remembered preparing to do this last spring, right after Raoul had announced that they were going out of the country for their honeymoon. All of that seemed so strangely long ago, despite the fact that not even a year had passed since that time of carefree naivety.

She turned off the television, not wanting to hear any more about the 'monstrosity that was plaguing London.' They didn't know how lucky they were in that Erik had chosen such a bloodless path. After wringing her hands together for a moment, she went and picked up the telephone. There were so few options left for her, so little that she could do. Plus, it would be nice to hear a friendly and unassuming voice. She dialed and put the receiver to her ear.

"Hello?"

"Hi!" she said with a forced cheerful tone. "Guess who this is."

"Hey there!" replied Gavin. "Christine! It's good to hear from you. How's it going out west?"

"Everything's fine. How are you? Have you had your wedding yet?"

"It's tomorrow morning, actually," he said with a laugh. "I'm guessing that you're not going to make it up here by then."

"No," she replied. "I'm sorry. I wish that I could have come. I just…well…I'm very busy here. I'm just hoping to make it back by the start of the semester."

"No problem. I understand. We already have a ton of guests." There was laughter in the background. "Loud ones."

She laughed. "That's great! It sounds like fun."

"Yeah! It's going well."

The smile faded from her face as she began to reveal her true intentions. "Hey. Gavin. I was wondering. You've studied abroad and been to a lot of other countries, right?"

"Yeah. I've seen my fair share. Why?"

"Have you ever been to London? Or even Britain?"

"Yeah. I went to London for a month about two years ago."

She took a deep breath, praying that she didn't sound suspicious. "I was just wondering if you knew anyone there that might be willing to…give me housing…or show me around…or help me if I needed it…"

Gavin paused. "Why are you going there?"

"I'm not!" she exclaimed. "I mean, I definitely don't plan to soon. But if I ever have to, I want to feel like I have a place to go. If I ever go there to sing…or anything."

"All…right. Well, I stayed in some dorms. But my friend was hosted by this woman. She's kind of elderly but really nice. I think she used to be a professor or something. I'll e-mail you her contact information if you want to give that a try."

"Thanks!" she exclaimed. "That would be great."

"Yeah." He hesitated. "Is everything okay? There are some strange things going on in London right now. And…I know some of it's kind of connected to you."

She bit her lip. "I don't think we should talk about it on the phone now. But it has nothing to do with that. I'm fine."

"If you wind up dead over there, I'm going to hate myself for helping you."

"Gavin!" She laughed. "I'm fine. I'm not even going there now. This was just for an emergency. And who knows? Maybe I'll study abroad there someday."

"Uh-huh." Christine heard several voices in the background. "I'll be off in just a minute," Gavin told his guests. "And keep that cat away from the cake!" He went back to Christine. "Sorry about that."

"It's fine. I'd better let you go now. I'll see you soon, though. Have a wonderful wedding! And honeymoon."

"Thanks," Gavin replied. "I will. And Christine?"

"Yeah?"

"Please be careful."

She softly sighed. "I will be."

* * *

Leonie stared down at the shards of the shattered wine glass with her arms folded, waiting for Oliver to stop his ranting and pacing. Ever since the phone call two days ago from London, he had been nearly crazed with anger and fear. If he hadn't lost so much weight over the last few months, Frederick would have given himself a heart attack. 

"That thing!" he yelled, slamming his fist into the wall. "Nothing human could do what he's capable of! He's straight from hell! I hate him! I told them not to kill him because _I'm_ going to come back and do it. Leonie! Stop being useless! Go pack your things! I'm leaving tonight. I'm going to destroy that damned hideous demonic _thing_!" He uttered several more vulgarities and knocked a stack of magazines off one of the tables. "Those idiots don't even know what they're doing! I'm going back."

Leonie sighed and took a step backward. Frederick had never raised a hand to her. Despite his current habit of carrying around a gun twenty-four hours of the day, he really wasn't one for personally using violence or physical force. He preferred to let others handle the dirtier matters of business. Still, she didn't want to be smacked in the forehead by another flying wine glass. "You're really stupid enough to return to London?" she softly enquired, once he had stopped his raving to take a breath.

"No! I'm not going back to London!" he growled. "Just back to England for now. I'm not even going to make my presence known. But the authorities are completely hopeless without me! The police have no idea what they're doing, and I need to be near so that I can take control. Or my niece is going to end up dead! If she's not already…" He shuddered and cursed again. "Are you coming or not?"

"Frederick, darling," she gently began, slowly coming closer. She laid a hand on his heaving shoulder. "Calm down. Let's think this through together. Let's be rational."

He shrugged her away. "There's nothing to think about. There are no other options. I'm going back."

"Didn't you hear the good news, though? Blood was found. They think he was injured!"

"They also thought he was dead at one time! And even if someone was lucky enough to shoot the freak, they didn't do enough damage."

"Well, he could still be severely weakened. And at least it proves that he's human, right?" Leonie laughed. "Sometimes I wondered if his genes were mutated enough to exclude him from the species."

Now exhausted, Frederick sat down in an armchair and leaned back, shaking his head in disgust. "That's of little comfort."

"Well, then how's this?" She sat down on the sofa beside the chair and put a slender hand on his knee. "They interrogated that other fellow-Darius, I think-with the list of questions that I gave them. And I received the answers this afternoon."

Frederick looked up. "Why didn't you tell me? What did they say?"

"You were extremely occupied with your screaming," she snidely replied. "Some of the answers were very interesting, though. I asked for details on how the hostages were treated. Raoul was more or less ignored. The girl, however, was taken into a back room with _him_ almost every evening. Alone. To…_sing_. I wonder what that really means." She laughed and shook her head. "That poor girl."

Frederick gaped in horror. "It's a damned wonder that she isn't locked away in a mental institution after what she went through. And Carlotta!" He paled. "Dear God! I don't even want to think about…" He put a hand over his mouth.

Leonie patted his knee and continued. "When asked why Raoul and the girl were even permitted to live, Darius replied that he didn't really know. When pressed, though, he admitted that it may have had something to do with Ms. Daae. She was somewhat protected there. Isn't that interesting?"

"A bit," admitted Frederick. "But how can it really help us?"

Leonie stared at him with annoyance. "Think about this, Freddie. He mercilessly slaughters people for the last five years. No one survived once they saw him. And suddenly, last spring, he lets Christine and Raoul leave with barely a scratch. He keeps the hairclip, which I would bet on my life belonged to that girl. And there's one more thing…" She pursed her lips.

"What?" Oliver leaned forward slightly, unable to hide his growing interest.

"Did you see that girl they interviewed on the news? The cleaning girl who saw him in that building? I think she was Swedish or something."

"Yes. I think so. Why?"

"She was blonde-haired and blue-eyed. And younger. She claimed that he stared at her for several long moments. But, obviously, he allowed her to live. And there was plenty of time to kill her."

"Oh!" Frederick exclaimed. "You think that she reminded him of…" He rubbed his head. "I don't know. It's all such a long stretch."

"Maybe," she murmured. "But I do wonder where he's been all this time."

"You think he was with Christine?" asked Frederick, incredulously.

Leonie paused. "I'm not entirely sure on that. Christine seems like a timid little thing. If he had been near her at any time, I doubt that she knows. I think she would have run screaming to the police at the first sight of him. And, if I remember right, you spoke to her in November, and she was fine."

"Yes. She was very happy to believe that the monster was dead. I'm guessing that she's quite afraid right now. Especially if he…" Oliver shuddered. "What you just mentioned. My poor niece…"

Leonie became quiet, nibbling on her nail again. Honestly, the entire situation had become a bit more interesting. Frederick, of course, couldn't see the fun in it, as his niece was likely being mutilated. Still, the scenario was giving her a rush that she hadn't felt since her younger days. Not to mention, she could finally save herself before she wound up garroted. Or worse. Leonie hadn't avoided cigarettes and tanning beds all these years, only to have her life cut short by at least two decades.

"Frederick. If you're returning to England, then I want a plane ticket to the United States."


	40. Delicate Matters

The next few chapters are going to be a bit twisted. Please remember that all of these characters have their own motivations and that each possesses only a limited amount of information. And with that, I give you the next chapter!

**Read and Review!!!**

Frederick glanced up at Leonie's declaration, his frown a mixture of disgust and confusion. "The United States?" he asked, quickly standing up from the armchair and staring down at her. "Why the hell do you want to go there?"

She stood up, too, disliking the idea of anyone towering over her. "Because I think that Christine may be what we need to win this. She's the only one who he would hesitate to kill. I doubt that he would attempt to bomb us if she were inside the house. And who knows? Maybe he would even be willing to exchange Carlotta for her." Leonie laughed.

He shook his head. "I don't think you have enough proof for all of this. I think you're playing one of your sadistic games. And with my poor niece the way that she is, I'm just not in the mood for it."

"It's not a game!" she snapped, her faint German accent more defined in her anger. "Do you honestly have a better idea, Freddie? I do plan to talk to the girl first and make sure everything comes together properly." She stepped away and waved her hand in dismissal. "Besides, I certainly don't need your permission to go to the United States. You can do what you want."

He released a long, irritated sigh. "What exactly are you going to do? Kidnap her?"

She shook her head in disgust. "Frederick. Don't be stupid."

"Then _how_?"

"Always use your connections. And our connection to Christine is?"

"Ah. De Chagny." Oliver nodded. "But they're not even engaged anymore." He chuckled and rubbed his chin. "The poor boy was upset about that."

"Yes. I know. But I'm sure he still cares for her welfare. He's too much like his father, always thinking of others." She smiled. "Always with good intentions."

"So you would bring de Chagny with the girl?"

"If I actually did decide to bring her back with me, I think it's the only sensible way to do this. At least without resorting to strange measures. The boy will provide a certain comfort zone for her."

"You know," Frederick thoughtfully began. "It might be a good idea to get de Chagny out to London, anyway. He's going to be controlling a bunch of the company's subsidiaries once I retire. It'd be good to introduce him to business in Europe. He's the only competent heir we have now. Firmin's son is constantly in and out of rehab. Everyone else had daughters who want nothing to do with any of this. That leaves Raoul. Although I wish the boy would grow a spine."

"Well, now that is convenient," she replied, folding her hands together. "I can play to his ego a bit. Very nice, Frederick."

"Thank you, sweetheart." He shook his head and muttered something under his breath. "You're sure that you want to bring that girl into this? It's a bit messy. Maybe I can just go to London, find him, and shoot him." He picked up his gun from the table and ran his hand over the smooth, black metal. "I'm looking forward to it."

Leonie laughed. "Well, maybe you'll get your chance. But I think we need a bit more than that. And even if I'm wrong, it won't hurt to try. You, me, and the girl will all be around one city, which ensures that our monster isn't going to go anywhere else. And with his injury, I'm sure he's not as quick as he once was. I think it will all come together." She smiled broadly. "I just have a good, tingly feeling."

"Well, then," said Frederick. "I will return to England and prepare the guest bedrooms.

"Give me a day or two to ask some questions," she replied. "This has to be handled delicately." She gestured to the phone, before heading back to the bedroom to begin packing. "But do give Raoul a call. Let him know that he's going to have some company soon."

* * *

What bothered Nadir the most was not that Erik was experiencing a bout of insanity. For the last five years or so, Erik would occasionally be unable to recall certain events, memories of his time in prison or of his murderous sprees. He would claim the horrific occurrences to be nothing but a blur of images and sounds, and he rarely had memories of his victims. Insanity was nothing new. Mr. Khan was more disturbed by the type of madness from which Erik was suffering, these strange and outrageous delusions. Never before had Erik's mind completely created something on its own. He had never possessed false memories. Nadir's only guess was that Erik was coming down with a fever. 

After their nearly fateful conversation, Erik had silently rested for several hours before departing into the night without a word. Nadir had nervously waited in the cold tunnels, worrying over Erik's state of health and of mind. His companion had returned several hours later, though, carrying items of food, blankets, and medical supplies. Erik left the food and the blankets where Nadir could reach them, before kneeling on the ground with the jug of water and a piece of cotton cloth.

Mr. Khan murmured his gratitude and was unsurprised to receive no response. He picked up a box of crackers and one of the blankets, before heading to the back closet. Carlotta wearily looked up at him as he unfolded the blanket and draped it over her bare legs. "Thank you," she whispered.

Nadir nodded. He was feeling the same guilt that he had experienced when holding Christine Daae prisoner. "I also have food." He hesitated, not wanting to go through the awkward process of feeding her by hand. "If I untie you for a few minutes to eat, do you swear not to attempt to escape? You won't be successful. He is right outside. And he will not be merciful, I fear."

She weakly nodded. "Yes. I promise. Please just let me eat." The confident diva was gone, leaving behind a fragile woman who was only fighting for the bare necessities.

It took Nadir several minutes to undo the complicated knot. Carlotta flexed her numbed fingers and attempted to get her arm muscles working again. Nadir then handed her the crackers, and she quickly took a handful of the white squares and ravenously began to eat them one by one. She choked several times, her mouth dry and unused to food. "I'll get you water later," Nadir stated.

Carlotta nodded again, tears of despair gathering in her eyes. "How much longer do I have to be here?" she whispered between mouthfuls.

"Hopefully no more than a few weeks." She groaned. "I…I am sorry. It is just necessary right now." Once she was finished eating, he gently began to tie her wrists back together, fearing that his double knot wouldn't be up to Erik's standards. When it seemed tight enough, he stood up with the box of crackers. "Just tell me if you are in need of anything." Carlotta said nothing, merely staring at the floor with shame and misery. Nadir felt his stomach wrench. This was the last kidnapping to which he would ever be accomplice.

When Nadir emerged from the closet, he saw that Erik was still attending to his wound. His masked comrade was kneeling underneath one of the tunnel lights. A bottle of some sort of antiseptic was sitting beside him, as were two pairs of silver tweezers. Nadir could see Erik's shoulder muscles tighten in response to the pain. "Is everything well?" Nadir softly asked. "Is there a great deal of shrapnel?"

"No," Erik evenly replied after a moment. "It is fairly clean."

"Good." Nadir merely watched for several minutes as Erik finished sterilizing the wound and began to use a ribbon of white gauze. His bony fingers diligently wrapped the stretchy material around his calf. "You must still be careful of infection."

Erik's shoulders tensed again. "I am aware of that."

Nadir nodded and decided not to bother his troubled friend any longer. He folded up one of the felt blankets into a ball and rested his head against it, hoping to grab even a few hours of sleep in this dismal place. He was constantly awoken by rumblings overhead, along with the ever-present anxiety that came from the eerie atmosphere. He was unaware of when night turned into day, but every passing hour made him tenser. Erik remained quiet the entire time, often staring down upon that curious letter as he rested his injured leg. "Perhaps you could get me a newspaper later," Nadir softly joked after hours of nothing but silence, wishing he could read his comrade's thoughts. "It would help to pass the time."

"I will do so tonight."

"How long do you plan to stay here?" Nadir asked, encouraged by the calm response.

"I must see where Oliver is first," Erik replied. "There are various rumors on is whereabouts. I do not wish to go to Spain for no reason."

"You are still determined to kill him?"

"There is no peace of mind while he is alive. There can be nothing for me while Oliver lives."

Nadir nodded and refrained from attempting to dissuade him. Erik went out again that night for an unnerving period of time. When he finally returned, his breath was harsh and his movements were slow. Mr. Khan looked up with concern as Erik slumped against the brick wall and clutched at the lower part of his leg. "What happened?" he gasped.

"Infected," Erik muttered. "Keep your distance." He turned away and quickly unwrapped his leg. Nadir winced at the redness and puffiness, wanting to turn away as Erik began to clean the oozing wound again. Fortunately, it still appeared to be in the earlier stages of infection.

"What is that?" asked Nadir, eyeing several small cylindrical containers that Erik had set on the ground.

"Antibiotics and painkillers," he curtly replied, breathing more steadily now that he was sitting down. Ensuring that his face was turned in the opposite direction, Erik removed the mask with a heavy sigh. He took the jug of water and drank from it, before swallowing two of the tiny capsules. After a moment, he slowly reached for the piece of porcelain again.

Nadir hesitated. "Maybe it best for your health if you leave the mask off for a while. For your breathing."

Erik coldly chuckled. "But is it best for your health, my friend? We do not need you vomiting down here."

"I have seen your face on more than one occasion. And if need be, I can turn away. But please do what is best for your own health. Do not concern yourself with me."

The mask must have been bringing him severe discomfort, for Erik soon set it back down. Nadir briefly caught a glimpse of the side that resembled a skull but managed not to flinch. It was difficult to say which side of Erik's face was worse. One half looked like death, and the other was just plain grotesque. "Are you sure the pills are the right kind?" Nadir cautiously enquired, guiltily feeling some relief as Erik turned his profile away again. "I believe that each type of infection responds best to a specific antibiotic."

"They were prescribed for some idiot who tore his knee open playing one of those ridiculous sports. I assume they will do well enough! If not, there are more to choose from. You would be surprised to see how easy it is to break into these health facilities. Now cease with your questions!"

"Ah. Well, let us pray that they do work." Nadir paused, watching Erik's shoulders rise and fall with each slow breath. A twinge of sympathy and regret went through him, and he couldn't help but wish that Erik did have someone to look after him. "It is good to see you taking care of your health. I often feared…well, never mind."

Erik was quiet for a moment, continuing to tend to his leg. "I wish to live. To see her again." Nadir kept silent. Erik bitterly laughed. The sound was richer without the mask, unmuffled and echoing. "You still do not believe me, do you? You believe me mad, no doubt."

Nadir hesitated, attempting to find a delicate way to explain this. "It is simply very hard to believe that…"

Erik's fists clenched, but he refrained from turning around. "That someone could ever show Erik anything but hatred?" he dangerously hissed.

"No," quickly replied Nadir. "No. But Erik…we both terrorized that poor girl. We nearly killed her. I would expect her to be afraid of either of us."

"But she was not afraid!" he exclaimed. "She was good and kind. And she is waiting for me. Me! In all my hideousness, she asked me to return to her. And I would never hurt her, Nadir. Never."

Nadir humored him, not daring to again insist that it had never happened. "What exactly are you going to do with her?" he questioned. "What are your plans after all of this?"

"I will find her." Erik paused, perhaps not knowing the complete answer to the question. "And keep her as mine to love. I…I can entertain her every day. I can make her laugh with my tricks. Sing to her, if she wishes. And take walks with her at night. I can do that. I would do anything, you see…" He picked the mask up off the ground and tied it back on, jerking the strings into place. "She is the only reason."

Nadir sighed. He didn't know what to think anymore. It was all beyond his comprehension, beyond anything that he might have imagined. The thought of Christine coming to Erik of her own free will was difficult to believe. The thought of her asking him to return was simply unimaginable. He would have to see it to truly believe it. But if this so-called memory was the only thing keeping Erik sane, alive, and partially humane, then Nadir decided that he would say nothing else against it.

It was all that Erik had right now.

It was really all that either of them had.

* * *

Raoul massaged his temples with one hand and glanced at the heirloom grandfather clock that stood in his sitting area, a general feeling of anxiety eating away at him. His guest was supposed to arrive there by taxi sometime between noon and two. He'd offered to pick her up, but Frederick has explained that Ms. Neumanns preferred to take care of her own affairs. Raoul could vaguely remember the woman from his childhood. She'd always been kind to him and would stop to chat with him even when his dad was attempting to shoo him out of their meetings. Leonie would ruffle his feathery hair and tell him that he looked just like his father, along with that he was the good son while Phillip was the troublemaker. 

Despite his bothered mind, Raoul nostalgically smiled to himself at the memories of those carefree days of youth. His father had been a somewhat troubled man, but Louis had attempted not to press his problems upon his family. He'd bought his sons whatever they'd asked for and showered presents upon his wife. His time had been limited, but Raoul knew that his stressful job kept him busy. He still held great respect for his father, especially now that he clearly saw what horrors his dad might have been dealing with. Raoul remembered hearing about the deaths of two of his father's partners during his first year of college, both men savagely murdered and strung up by some unknown assailant. He'd asked his dad why the tragedy had occurred, but his father was never direct with him.

Even after that catastrophe, his father's demise, and Phillip's untimely departure, Raoul had attempted to make the best of things. He'd handled the work in Chicago and kept in close contact with other offices in the United States. The responsibility could be stressful, but Raoul made sure that it was never overbearing. He'd left all matters in Europe to his father's friends, and much of the work in the United States was handled by James Lawrence. Raoul had wanted plenty of time for a wife and family; he didn't want his happiness to rest on things like stock prices and contracts and income statements. And after finding Christine after all those years, everything seemed to be going perfectly.

Until last spring.

Now, he wasn't sure what to do. He didn't know enough about this threat to take it into his own hands, and so he had been forced to put his trust in Oliver. Frederick had called him several days ago, saying that conditions had worsened and claiming that all Raoul held dear might be at stake. Leonie Neumanns was coming to the United States to explain the situation more clearly. Raoul had asked why they couldn't just tell him about it over the phone. Frederick had explained that the matters were simply too complex.

At two minutes passed twelve, the doorbell chimed, echoing off the whitewashed walls and tall ceilings of the home. Raoul straightened his white dress shirt and quickly opened the front door. Save for a few more wrinkles around her cheeks and eyes, Leonie Neumanns appeared almost the same as when he had last seen her. She was dressed in a grey sweater and pressed pair of slacks, and a black leather purse was slung over her shoulder. Raoul felt almost like a little boy again, speaking with someone professional and wise beyond his twenty-four years. "Good afternoon," he stated, clearing his throat. "Ms. Neumanns?"

She lightly laughed and put a slender hand on his shoulder, as though sensing his nervousness. "Call me Leonie, dear. We're like old friends, aren't we?" She examined him with a tilt of her head. "You were just a little boy when I last saw you. But you look so much like Louis now." She sighed. "I do miss him."

"Yeah," he replied, his heart growing heavy. "So do I." He looked passed her, seeing a silver Mercedes-Benz in his driveway. "I thought you were taking a taxi."

"I prefer to be in control of my own transportation," she replied with a shrug. "And it is a nice car, isn't it?"

"Yeah. It's really nice." He glanced down. "Do you have any luggage you need to bring inside?"

"I'm staying at a hotel, dear. I'm not going to impose on you."

"Oh. Well, no else is here besides me. I have a ton of room. You could have stayed."

She laughed again and squeezed his shoulder. "You're just like Louis! So hospitable! But no. I'm just fine with my hotel. I have a large suite, and I'd like to enjoy it. It's nice to be back in this country again. "

"All right," he replied, running a hand through his hair and stepping back. "Well, you can come on in. Um…would you like anything to drink?"

"Hm. Just a glass of water, maybe."

"Sure!" He ran into the kitchen to fulfill the request, still feeling a bit strange. There was something…very odd and uncertain about this meeting.

"Thank you," she replied as he returned and handed the glass to her. "You should really get yourself a butler. You know? Back in the nineteenth century, your ancestors likely had a mansion full of servants! Isn't that fun to think about?"

He awkwardly chuckled. "A little, I guess. But I'm fine here." He took a seat in the armchair across from her and slightly leaned forward, anxiously waiting while she drank.

"Well," she began, setting the glass down and dabbing at her mouth with her fingers. "I can tell that you're ready to get down to business. I must have made you nervous by coming here so suddenly. I do apologize for that." She folded her wrinkled hands together. "But the matter has gotten very serious, and it requires immediate attention." Her eyes became sterner, and the lighthearted smile of earlier left her face. "Thanks in part to Frederick's incompetence-Don't tell _him_ I said that.-things have gotten out of hand. Our lives are in danger."

"Yours, too?" he asked with wide eyes. Then again, maybe it shouldn't have surprised him that the evil man would want to hurt this kindly elderly woman.

"I'm afraid so," she somberly replied. "And Frederick's. And yours. And…" She hesitated and glanced at the ground.

"What?" Raoul frantically asked.

She looked up again and leaned forward. "Raoul. I hate telling you this. I hate making you worry, but we think the creature may have an unhealthy interest in your little friend. Christine Daae, I believe. Certain reliable sources have revealed this. One of your captors, actually."

He shuddered. "What exactly does that mean?"

"Well," she continued. "He may attempt to seek her out again…to…" Leonie waved her hand to the side. "Well, you're a grown man, dear. I'm sure you know of these things."

Raoul paled. "No. I don't know. He's trying to get to Christine? Why? How do you know this?"

"Well, why else would he attempt to get near to her?" she questioned. "I suppose he took a fondness to her during your dreadful captivity." Leonie leaned in even more, her voice falling to a whisper. "That _is_ how you both escaped, isn't it? That is why he released you? Please tell me the truth now. Our wellbeing rests upon it."

He hesitated, a lump forming at the back of his throat. "I…" Raoul took a deep breath. "Yes. She sang for him. I don't even really remember all of it. It was a nightmare! But she…Christine stopped him from killing both of us that night." He rubbed the bridge of his nose and stared at the floor, a wave of unpleasant memories coming upon him.

"Very interesting. She…sang for him?"

"Yes," Raoul replied. "In the evenings. She would come by my locked door and talk to me afterwards. But I could hear her singing downstairs."

Leonie put a hand on his shoulder. "Dear boy," she softly began, sympathy laced throughout her voice. "Are you sure you weren't hearing her screams?"

Raoul was nearly ashen by now. "But…No! Yes. I mean, she never seemed that upset." He threw his hands up in the air. "I don't know. It's all a blur now. I try not to think about it. I hate thinking about it!"

"I know it's difficult," she gently replied. "But it appears that this infatuation is dangerous. We are trying to stop more horrors from occurring. The past can't be changed, but the future can be."

He placed his head into his hands, still caught up in her previous words. "How could I have been that stupid? I just didn't want to believe…"

"It's not your fault," she soothed. "And like I said, we need to concentrate on the present. Before he finds her again."

"Give me a moment." Raoul jumped up and raced into the downstairs bathroom, shutting the door behind him and locking it. He rubbed a hand over his sweating brow and looked at his disheveled appearance in the mirror. Taking a washcloth, he moistened it and dabbed at his forehead, attempting to make the feeling of nausea pass. "You idiot," he muttered to himself. It was really no wonder that Christine had left him. After what she had been through, he'd been too naïve to admit what had really happened to her. She'd needed his support, and he'd attempted to pretend that everything was fine.

He needed help. Badly. Raoul didn't know much about Leonie, but she wanted to help him. And she and Frederick were both trapped in the same struggle that he was; they were both attempting to save themselves from this horrible force. Raoul would do what his father and brother couldn't do; he would help put a stop to this nightmare. He would ensure that Christine was never hurt again.

Leonie was standing at the bathroom door as he emerged. Before he could even react, she tightly embraced him. "It's going to be just fine," she murmured into his near. "No one else is going to be hurt if we all work together." Her flowery perfume engulfed his nostrils, and he attempted not to choke on the scent. Raoul tentatively hugged her in return, finding some solace in the soft warmth of her cashmere sweater.

After a moment, he pulled back. "What do we need to do?" he asked, attempting to remain calm. They walked back into the living area and sat down in their former places.

Leonie hesitated and pursed her lips. "We have reason to believe that the fiend still holds an interest in Christine. It is likely that he will return for her. And that he will attempt to do harm to you, as well. Frederick and I feel that the two of you would be safer with us, with armed bodyguards at a very secure and private location in Britain."

"In Britain? But that's where he is!"

"For now," she replied. "But what happens when he returns here? Do you want that sweet girl all by herself out in Boston? It's right by the ports! He'd get to her in an instant!"

"Maybe I can convince Christine to stay here with me for awhile," he sickly replied.

"And you think that the two of you can take him on?" she asked, somewhat patronizingly.

"I'll hire bodyguards."

"And you think she'll agree to stay hidden behind walls forever? You want to spend the rest of your life in fear?"

"I…" He sighed miserably.

"Listen to me," she continued. "If we bring Christine to England…if you're in England, he'll have no reason to go anywhere else. We'll know exactly where he is. And if he's truly injured, I think we have a fair shot at ending this once and for all. We're a team, Raoul. You, me, Freddie, and Christine. Two generations working together."

"We're not even engaged anymore." He shook his head. "She might not agree to come."

"Let me talk to her about it, dear," replied Leonie. "She's probably ashamed after what happened to her."

"But I wouldn't have cared!" he protested. "I loved her. That wouldn't have mattered to me!"

She patted his leg. "I know. It's a very complicated issue. The best thing that we can do is stop this before it gets worse."

"I guess," he weakly replied.

"And on the brighter side, Frederick also wants to introduce you to the other branches of the company. With him retiring soon, you need to know all the ups and downs. You're really the most competent heir that we have right now."

"I don't know," he grimly murmured. "I have a lot on my hands here."

"Oh. It's not difficult once you get the hang of it. You just get everyone else to do the work for you. But first things first. Let's talk with Christine, let her know that her safety is in jeopardy. I would also like to speak with her, allow her to understand that she has our full support."

"I'll tell her that," stated Raoul. "I'll tell her that nothing will ever hurt her again."

"Sometimes women have a better understanding of these things, dear," Leonie explained with a smile. "But you see what you can do. Why don't you give her a call? I'll take you both out to dinner."

He wearily nodded. "All…all right." Raoul stood up and slowly walked to the phone. After punching in a number, he waited as Christine's telephone rang several times.

"Hello?"

He closed his eyes at her soft voice. "Hey. Christine."

"Hey, Raoul," she replied. "How are you?"

"I'm good. I just…I was wondering if you'd like to get together for dinner tonight. Just as friends. Well, not just with me. I have some company, an old friend of my father's."

She hesitated. "Oh? Well, I guess I could. Why do you want me there, though?"

"It's kind of hard to explain. Just to talk about some important things. I'll pick you up, though."

Another pause. "All right," Christine finally replied. "I'll get ready, then. See you soon."


	41. Dinner With Friends

Thank you as always for your wonderful comments. My mother keeps trying to get me to write original fiction, but I think I'd miss you guys too much :)

This is the last slower chapter before things get interesting.

**Read and Review!!!**

Christine was looking forward to going to dinner with her friend, if for nothing more than to get out of the house. The packing was almost finished, and most of the furniture had already been picked up by a charity organization or left on the curbside. It was difficult to watch her old possessions being taken by strangers, a permanent relinquishing of her past. Memories of her father and childhood were attached to every couch, table, and chair that were dragged away. The half-empty house was beginning to haunt her.

She was also preparing to return to Boston for her spring semester, although that thought didn't provide much comfort. Christine didn't know how she could go sing and work, all the while pretending that everything was fine. She continued to worry over how serious Erik's injury was and wondered what his future plans were. Frederick Oliver likely factored in somewhere, but she knew absolutely nothing outside of that. She didn't even know if Erik ever planned to return, and that distressed her the most.

Raoul's phone call momentarily took her mind off her concerns. Christine brushed her hair out and put on some lip gloss and mascara, figuring that they were going somewhere fairly expensive and enjoying an excuse to fix herself up. She'd been cleaning and packing boxes in sweatshirts and jeans for the last few weeks. After glancing at her reflection in the full-length mirror with disdain, she threw on some dressy black pants and a turquoise sweater.

Her friend arrived earlier than she had expected. At the sound of two sharp knocks, Christine opened the door to see Raoul standing there with an expression of concern twisting his mouth. His clothes and hair were also slightly disheveled. Parked in her cracked driveway was an expensive silver car with tinted windows, appearing out of place in the lower income neighborhood. "Hi," she said, snatching her purse off the couch and coming out the door. "Wow. That's a nice car. Is it your friend's?"

Raoul cleared his throat. "Yeah. I think she rented it or something. Are you…ready?"

She attempted a smile, wondering what had him so upset. "Yep. Let's go." They walked out into the cold and cloudy afternoon. Her friend opened one of the doors that led to the backseat, and Christine murmured her thanks and climbed inside the warm, plush interior. The woman in the driver's seat immediately turned around to face her.

She was older, but her high cheekbones and green eyes led Christine to think that she might have been very attractive at one time. They examined each other for a moment. Christine looked away first, and the woman smiled. "Hello," she greeted. "Christine, right? It's _extremely _nice to meet you."

Christine smiled back and nodded. "Nice to meet you, too, Ms...um…Raoul didn't-"

"Just call me Leonie," she replied. "We're all friends today." Raoul opened the door and silently climbed in on the opposite side of the backseat. Leonie shifted the car into reverse, backed out of the driveway, and began to cruise forward.

"Leonie, then. Nice to meet you." Christine blinked, again hit with that feeling of recognition. Gavin's news article came to mind, but _Falcon_ was only composed of last names. She remembered that there had been a female, a German heiress. "Where are we going?" she asked, wondering if she was just being paranoid.

"_The Capital Grille_. I'm buying you both dinner this evening." Leonie glanced at them through her rearview mirror.

"But that's very expensive! You shouldn't-"

"I want to do it, dear," replied Leonie. "It's my pleasure. Just because the topic of conversation is unpleasant, doesn't mean the meal has to be. Right?"

"Topic?" she asked, beginning to feel a little nervous.

Raoul looked at her, and she could see that his eyes were clouded with worry. "We'll talk about it in a little bit," he softly replied. "How are you doing?"

"I'm good. The house is about all cleaned out. I'll be going back to Boston soon."

Her friend nodded but said nothing, his gaze drifting to the carpeted floor. Leonie turned on the radio. "Do you enjoy jazz?" she asked, her tone friendly.

"That's fine," Christine replied. Raoul remained silent. They drove out of the suburbs and down the city streets, listening to the smooth sound of saxophones and trumpets flowing out of the high-quality speakers. Leonie occasionally made a casual comment to which Christine would give a clipped and uncertain response. When they arrived at the restaurant and climbed out, Christine got a better view of her, finding Leonie to have the appearance of a lawyer or Congresswoman. A smile seemed to be permanently plastered upon her face.

The inside of the restaurant was dim and warm, the walls and chairs composed of a dark wood. A hostess took them to a private table in the back at Leonie's request. Christine gazed over the wine glasses and pressed white tablecloth, before slowly taking a seat in one of the cushioned chairs. Leonie sat across from her and Raoul.

"Freddie should have come here," murmured the older woman as she looked over a menu. "He would have been rather impressed by the number of ways that Americans can prepare a steak."

"Freddie?" asked Christine, glancing up with alarm.

"Frederick Oliver," replied Raoul. "You talked to him once."

Leonie saw the expression on Christine's face before she was able to hide it. "I can tell you don't like Freddie," she stated with an amused laugh.

Christine swallowed, feeling her heart skip a beat. "Oh, no! I just…"

"Don't worry, dear," she interrupted. "I know he can be a bastard sometimes. Just ignore him. He's very harmless."

Raoul chuckled and scratched his head. Christine managed to force a laugh, almost certain now that this woman's last name began with an _n_. The table suddenly seemed cramped. She decided to keep her mouth closed as much as possible, trying desperately to remember what her father had taught her about keeping a poker face. The waiter delivered glasses of water with lemons to her and Raoul, before setting a cup of coffee in front of Leonie. Christine forced the cold liquid down, feeling the woman's eyes upon her.

"Maybe we should begin," wearily stated Raoul, rubbing a hand over his face.

Leonie laughed again. "He's always ready to get down to business, isn't he?"

Christine looked at her friend. "Begin what?"

"Well," Leonie stated, setting down her coffee. "I'll just start by saying that you're very brave after all you've been through. Both of you are. Freddie and I admire you both."

"Thanks," murmured Christine.

"Unfortunately," she continued, "your problems aren't quite over. Along with wanting to do harm to Frederick and me, your kidnapper continues to hold an unhealthy interest in you. So much so that he will likely attempt to return to this country and seek you out."

Raoul sighed. Christine felt the color drain from her face. Her hands curled into fists beneath the table, and her heart hammered. "How do you know this?"

"Various sources," she replied with sympathy. Christine was grateful that Leonie took her reaction as one of utter dread. "One of your other kidnappers provided us with more information. He told us of the…occurrences at that house."

"But how do you know that he's coming back for me?" Christine pressed, eyeing the woman closely.

Leonie pursed her lips and took another drink of coffee. "He spoke of doing so, dear. And he obsessively carried around one of your possessions. A hair clip? Does that sound at all familiar?" Christine's eyes widened. "I thought so. We even believe that he may have been near you on several occasions last fall."

"Last fall?" she choked out. _How did she know? _

"Possibly," stressed Leonie. "Of course, you didn't know about it. The creature is very adept at concealing himself. It's almost…supernatural."

"I can't believe this," muttered Raoul. "You actually think he was watching her all that time?"

"It's possible," said Leonie. "He disappeared for quite awhile. And there were strange occurrences near the ports. I have no solid proof, though."

Christine relaxed slightly at the realization that these were all assumptions. She was afraid to say anything else, afraid to give this woman more information than she already had. "So he's going to come back for me?" she asked, maintaining a tone of fear.

Raoul took her clammy hand and held it. "We're not going to let him get near you," her friend stated with resolve. "We're going to keep you safe."

Christine's gaze darted back to her friend. "Safe?"

"Yes, dear," replied Leonie. "We want to take you both to a heavily guarded location in Britain. You'll be protected, and it will ensure that the fiend doesn't leave the country. Everyone he wants-you, me, Raoul, and Frederick-will be there. And with his likely injury, it will be easier to hunt him down." Leonie studied her closely, awaiting her reaction. Raoul squeezed her hand.

"You…you want me to go to England?" Christine stuttered.

"For your safety, dear," replied Leonie. "We can't have you going unprotected to Boston by yourself. Even here you may not be secure. There's just no other way."

"I have school," she replied, attempting to think clearly.

"I know," stated Raoul. "But you shouldn't be out there by yourself. He could get to you! Tell them you have an emergency."

"But it's so sudden. I can't just go…"

"I know, dear," replied Leonie, her voice becoming sterner. "But the matter is very serious. You don't want to be his captive again, do you?" She raised an eyebrow. "Surely that's not appealing to you."

Christine paused and stared at the spotless tablecloth, feeling two sets of eyes boring into her, awaiting her final response. She knew that there was something extremely wrong about this situation. How did they know of Erik's affection for her? Was Leonie lying? Her stomach clenched. Had they gotten to Erik somehow? _No. It couldn't be that. Please don't let it be that._

It occurred to her that, on some level, she was being handed what she wanted. For the last few weeks, at least in the back of her mind, Christine had been thinking of a way to get to London. The high cost and difficulty of finding transportation and lodging made her hesitate. She didn't think that she would do very well by herself in the densely-populated capital city of a foreign country, even if the citizens did speak English.

Now, though, she was being given a free ride to Britain, along with a temporary place to stay. Still, Leonie's vicious attitude toward Erik and her connection to Oliver made Christine nervous. She wondered if she would be putting herself in danger. Or was she putting Erik in danger? Or could she help him? Could she get to him before something horrible happened?

Christine looked at her friend and saw nothing but concern on his handsome face. Raoul was only worried for her safety, and she was somewhat consoled by the fact that he was going. He wouldn't let anything horrible happen to her if he could help it.

Her heart continued to throb inside of her chest as she attempted to make her decision. She watched Leonie's manicured fingernails tap rhythmically against the tablecloth. It occurred to Christine that she might not have much of a choice. If she refused to go, it would make her look suspicious. And for all she knew, Leonie had another plan and enough power to control the situation.

Or maybe she was just making excuses to go. Maybe her heart was just yearning to get to London no matter what the risk. She sighed.

"Christine?" Raoul softly asked. "Will you go?"

She looked up at him. Her heart jumped as she made the statement aloud. "All right," she replied. "I'll go. Maybe I would feel safer." Her voice shook.

Raoul squeezed her hand again. "It will only be for a little while," he stated. "I promise. Just until that fiend is locked away forever."

She inwardly flinched at his words but managed to remain composed. "Okay."

Leonie grinned, her perfect white teeth glinting in the dim light. "Wonderful. I'm glad you made that decision. It certainly makes everything easier. And it is in your best interest. Honestly, you might have been forced by the government to testify later, anyway."

Raoul frowned. "Oh. But she needs a passport, I think. That'll take awhile."

"I sent an application in several days ago," Christine stated. "It still might take some time for it to arrive."

"Why did you do that?" her friend asked.

Christine shrugged and looked away. "Oh…you know. Study abroad. There are a lot of opportunities to sing in other countries. I wanted to be prepared."

"Oh." Raoul nodded and asked no more questions.

"That's very convenient," stated Leonie. "I'll find a way to get it through the system as quickly as possible. This is a matter of international law and security. They'd be crazy not to let you go for your own protection. It shouldn't be a problem."

A waiter brought their food. Christine stared down at her roast chicken dish, no longer the least bit hungry. Terror and relief simultaneously coursed through her veins. _Erik. She was going to Erik._ Leonie caught her eye and smiled at her from across the table. Christine half-smiled back, beginning to feel deeply disturbed.

* * *

"How did it go?" 

"It was too easy, really. I'm so used to fighting with fascist millionaires that I'd forgotten we were dealing with mere children. They're so sweetly naïve." Leonie adjusted the phone against her ear and leaned back onto a pillow.

Oliver paused. "So you're bringing them here?"

"Yes," she replied. "I think it would be for the best. And they both agreed to come. We might as well take it while it's this easy."

"How exactly do we let our monster know what we have? I don't want him finding my home under any circumstances. I want his capture to be in public."

Leonie yawned, thinking that she had accomplished enough for one day. "We'll make a plan. It'd be good to get the media involved somehow." She laughed. "Maybe you could give the girl a kiss on the cheek for the cameras. That would be ideal."

"Are you sure that won't end up getting my niece killed?" he growled.

"No, dear. Carlotta's a perfect bargaining tool. If he has any self-control whatsoever, which I suppose is questionable, he'll refrain from murdering her." Leonie paused and listened to the background. "Is someone else there, Freddie?"

"I rehired a trusted housekeeper," he casually replied.

"Don't you have a wife?"

"Yes. But I haven't seen her in two years. I think she's in South America. I don't know. I don't really care."

Leonie sighed. "I'm going to bed. Have a lovely night, Frederick."

"You, too, sweetheart."

* * *

If the infection in his leg had spread to where an amputation became necessary, he would have hung himself. He was already too deformed and scarred to live within the normal bounds of society; he wasn't going to be an invalid, too. He would not become a useless freak to his beloved. 

With the antibiotics and frequent cleaning, though, the infection did not spread. The swelling decreased, and less fluid leaked from the wound. The ache also became more bearable, and he had reluctantly forced himself away from the soothing painkillers.

_Very_ reluctantly. He had experienced a brief encounter with narcotics in India at the age of sixteen. Nadir had torn the drugs from his hand and told him that they would deform his mind well beyond his face. He had angrily stalked away in response, but that had been the end of it.

As his leg continued to heal, he was more successful in his searches for information. He could silently maneuver his way into buildings at night through windows and back alleyways. The thought of going to another country to find Oliver annoyed him, especially because it was unlikely that he could sneak Nadir across international boundaries as well. It would be impossible to take Ms. Glouer to Spain, and her fate was still caught up in his constant mental struggle. It would be vindicating to spill some of Oliver's niece's blood. But…Christine…_Christine_…

Sometimes he still doubted his mind when it came to matters concerning his angel. At other times, he was very certain that it was real. Too many of the memories were bathed in clarity, were composed of vivid images of color and sound that almost seemed tangible. The memory of her snatching the mask from his face was especially real, and it was untainted by any false pleasantries. Had he fantasized the event, she would not have turned away from the horrific sight. But she had turned away in disgust, and the sting of her reaction remained with him.

_But she had asked him to come back!_ That plea was what he most needed to be real. Her request was what kept him alive from day to day. He was eager to return to her with peace of mind, so that he could hide away with her from the rest of the world…just her and music.

But first, there was Oliver.

Even after the vile man had left the country, his presence still lingered in London. It didn't require a great deal of effort to see that he still had open bank accounts and a variety of connections. There were accountants and lawyers and travel agents, all at the beck and call of Oliver's fortune. _He_ attempted to get into the information systems and find any evidence that the wretch might be returning in an attempt to free his niece. For many days, he could find absolutely nothing, and he wondered with disdain if it was time to look for the next boat to Spain.

A name and phone number added to one of Oliver's accounts made him change his course of thought. A Mrs. Emily Coleman. It was a subtle and minor addition, but the name was the first change that he had witnessed, and so it was of interest to him.

He quickly found the woman's address and investigated after the sun had set. The thin brunette was around thirty years of age, residing in a tiny and decrepit flat with a portly husband and two male children. The lime green paint on the building was chipped, and the faint odor of garbage permeated the moist air. For several evenings, he watched the family go about their domestic rituals. The walls were so thin that he could easily hear their words to one another, and there were various rips in the yellowed blinds and curtains.

The woman would frequently scream at her husband for not finding work, and he would hurl an insult back at her, before leaving the room and slamming the door. The family ate a meager dinner at exactly six, watched mindless television programs for two hours, and then the parents would put their offspring to bed. Mrs. Coleman and her husband would stay up late talking, usually about finances. Sometimes their conversations were calm. At other times, they were bitter. During one argument, something had shattered against one of the walls.

He watched them go about their mundane and troubled lives with a certain fascination, all the while attempting to gather more information on this impoverished woman's connection to Frederick Oliver. To his extreme ire, he arrived at the very end of a heated argument one evening.

"We don't need the money that badly!" the husband had yelled. "How could you do this to us again?"

"You're not changing my mind!" she snapped back. "If you're not going to work, then I have to. I have to take what I can. You can take care of the boys." A door slammed, and a shower turned on. Nothing else was said, and _he_ had departed in a foul mood.

The following evening, he had returned to find that only the father and the two children were present in the home. All was quiet for nearly thirty minutes, with the younger males watching television and the husband reading a newspaper. He nearly left out of boredom but stopped as the youngest boy began to pester his father. "When will Mummy be back?"

"Not for awhile," the older man gruffly replied, continuing to read the newspaper with an irritated expression.

"Why?" asked the boy, his lip trembling.

"Because her ass of a boss wants her to stay at his giant house and clean it. She has to stay there with him."

"But I want her to come home!"

"I can't do anything about it!" exclaimed the father. "It's how we put food on the table! Now go to bed before I spank you!" The boy ran off crying, and the man shook his head in disgust and continued reading.

For a moment longer, _he_ studied the broken household, waiting to see if he could gather anything else of use. He desperately wished that he had been there when the woman left, as it would have been very convenient to follow her to her destination. Still, he was momentarily content. It was beginning to seem likely that Oliver was hiding somewhere within the country. And if that were true, then all would fall into place, an ending and a beginning.

He decided to return when all members of the household were absent or asleep and search for addresses. Of course, there was a simpler way to dispose of them, but he quashed the idea. From a practical standpoint, the act would alert Oliver to his intentions and cause the coward to flee again in fear. But more importantly, his angel would never allow him to return to her if he did such a thing. And while he had murdered dozens of souls in his lifetime, he had never crossed paths with a child during one of his bloody sprees. At least, not that he recalled.

He left the house and walked down the streets, avoiding the light from the streetlamps and open shops. The twinge in his leg was nearly unnoticeable in the cold, damp air. For one brief and blessed second, he felt something that resembled peace. He could breathe. His mind cleared, and he was certain that every single thought of her was real. Of course, the feeling passed, and he cast a dangerous glare at an unknowing passerby that nearly brushed his shoulder. Still, the thoughts remained. Not delusions but memories. And, for now, they were enough.


	42. Leonie's Waltz

These next couple of chapters are going to be a bit rough, and this was a tough chapter to write. Everyone take a deep breath and hold on tight.

Also, I'd like to thank Kat097 for her help with some details about London. She's writing an awesome Leroux-based modern story called "Behind Closed Doors," so check it out if you're interested.

**Read and Review!!!**

Clutching her black travel bag against her side, Christine began to follow a tall man with a brown cowboy hat to the back of the airplane. She nearly jumped as someone grabbed the upper part of her arm from behind, turning around to see Leonie smiling at her with amusement. "No, dear," the older woman chided. "We're sitting in first class, of course."

"Oh! That's right. Sorry." She looked at her ticket and then checked the signs above the seats, willing her hands to stop shaking.

"Over here," Raoul softly called to her, motioning to two plush red seats on the right. "Do you want the window?"

"Um. Sure. Thanks." Leonie was sitting just across the aisle from them, and Christine wanted to be nowhere near her. She climbed passed Raoul and pushed her travel bag and purse beneath the spacious seat in front of her. Her stomach would occasionally flip flop, and it was difficult to hide her nervousness. Luckily, both Leonie and Raoul blamed her unease on pure fear of the 'monster' and repeatedly told her that she would be protected.

She had spent the last several days fretting over her decision, nearly phoning Raoul to tell him that she couldn't go. The hours had ticked by, though, and she had continued to pack for the trip, as though pulled across the Atlantic Ocean by an invisible force. Leonie had called her two days after their dinner to say that all preparations had been made for international travel, including her passport. Christine couldn't help but wonder how much power the woman had to be able to efficiently accomplish all of that. Leonie's choice of clothes and cars made her think that she possessed near Raoul's fortune. Christine had also gotten a glance of Leonie's last name on a travel form. _Neumanns._ That didn't surprise her.

She had finally finished clearing out her house and placed those possessions that she desired to keep in storage. The hardest part of the entire arrangement had been telling the university that she wasn't returning for the semester. The disappointment was evident in their voices, although they were more understanding when Christine explained that it was for security purposes. She hadn't been able to get a hold of the newly-wed Gavin, but he had e-mailed her the promised contact information of the woman in London. After writing it down on a piece of paper, she'd folded the note and stuck it in her purse.

A stewardess came by to hang up her coat, and another one stopped to take drink and meal orders. Perhaps under better circumstances, Christine would have enjoyed the special treatment. Now, all the questions seemed tiresome, and she just wanted the flight to be over. As soon as the plane took off, there would be no going back.

After Leonie had stored her travel bag in the overhead bin, she sat down and opened a fashion magazine. As if realizing something, she closed it and took out her cellular phone. Like most of Leonie's telephone conversations that Christine had witnessed, this one lasted no more than twenty seconds and consisted of a few clipped words. The older woman then turned off the phone to comply with airline regulations and opened her magazine with a glint of contentment in her green eyes.

Christine rested her head against the headrest and took a deep breath, tightly folding her hands together in her lap.

"It's going to be okay," Raoul stated, seeing the frown on her face. "I promise."

She looked at him and forced a smile. "I know. I'm fine. Just tired."

"Yeah. Me, too. Maybe we can catch a nap." They sat there in silence, watching the other passengers head to the back. A baby was crying somewhere, and she could hear several conversations taking place in a variety of foreign languages. "I wanted to tell you that I was sorry," Raoul stated after a moment, looking down at his hands.

Christine glanced at him. "What for?"

"For not…being there for you after all we went through. For not attempting to understand. I was just wrapped up in my own problems, I guess. I really screwed up."

She tilted her head. "You were there for me, Raoul. I was the one who left. You didn't do anything wrong."

"I should have been more supportive. Maybe…insisted that we both get counseling afterwards. I should have helped you."

She put a comforting hand on his arm. "Raoul. You were wonderful afterwards. You went through a lot more than I did. Don't blame yourself for anything. I'm just fine."

He studied her, and she attempted to read his troubled expression. "You always seemed fine afterwards. I didn't even see you cry that much. I think that was why I thought you were okay."

"Well, I was fine." She sighed. "I mean, it was scary. I was afraid for our lives. But I was okay afterwards. And…I'm okay now."

Her friend nodded but didn't say anything, appearing a little bit confused. Leonie glanced over at them and smiled. "Are you both comfortable?"

"Yes," they replied in unison.

"The seats are great," added Raoul.

Leonie nodded. "Excellent. Maybe the two of you can just think of this as a vacation. And who knows? Romances get rekindled in Europe."

"Heh. Yeah," murmured Raoul. Christine shook her head and turned to look out the window, staring at the puddle-covered asphalt and uniformed ground workers with feigned interest. She had never committed an act of violence in her life, but she found herself wanting to slap that woman sometimes. Still, maybe it was best if Leonie continued to believe her to be a terrified little girl.

Everyone was soon seated, and the steady din of conversation filled the plane. The engines roared to life, and she could feel the ground rumble beneath her feet. The captain made an announcement over the speakers, and several other translations soon followed. Christine took a long and deep breath as they began to move forward, her heartbeat accelerating with the plane. She leaned her forehead against the cool glass of the window, waiting for the ascent into the dim morning sky and knowing that she wouldn't be back for some time.

Maybe never.

* * *

As the plane landed and sped across the runway, Leonie tossed several aspirins into her mouth to ward off an impending headache. She could only imagine how awful it would have been sitting cramped in the back, surrounded by screaming babies and obese passengers. The flight there had been about eight hours long, and she saw with disdain that only a few hours of daylight remained in London. She'd wanted to avoid the darkness. 

Shaking the negative feelings away, she turned and smiled at her two guests. As they began to walk down the aisle with their carryon bags and coats, she ensured that they were always within her view. The last thing she needed was to lose the children in one of the world's busiest international airports. That would have thrown off her plan completely.

She was so very close to getting this entire thing accomplished with few problems. She'd run into a couple of snags in pushing the girl's passport through the system, but people always managed to see things her way by the end of it. If charm didn't work, she could always threaten their jobs. Honestly! What kind of security threat did a little blonde-haired, blue-eyed girl pose?

As they walked down the exit passage and into the airport, Leonie watched Christine. The girl had likely never been to another country before and was admiring the coffee shops, clothing boutiques, and gift stores that decked the fourth terminal. It was rather understandable why the creature would have such an interest in her. In all ways, Christine Daae was his exact opposite. Attractive to hideous, good to evil, mild-mannered to completely demented. The entire affair was artistic on some levels. It would be interesting to see whether he would be willing to die for her in these next few days.

Leonie felt the bottoms of her feet begin to ache and wished she had worn something other than high heels. Still, it was going to be important to look good for the press, and the extra height was a bonus. "This way!" she called, waving a hand as they began to wander in the opposite direction. Raoul sighed and turned, his eyes ringed with exhaustion. Christine rushed to his side, attempting to keep up. "It's big, isn't it?" Leonie commented. "Try not to get lost." She turned and continued to lead the way, the sensation of being in control giving her an extra boost of energy.

Soon, it would be revealed whether the first stage of her carefully crafted idea would be successful. Leonie took a deep breath of stale airport air and held her head high, checking once to make sure the children were still following close behind her.

_She'd been born in Germany in the mid-forties, a short time after her poor, unhappy country had surrendered to the allied powers._ Her father had owned several successful automobile plants that had managed to survive the destruction of the Second World War. Although the factory had manufactured weapons for a short time, Emmett Neumanns escaped accusations of having ties to the Nazi party. His company was encouraged to flourish and expand as part of the attempt to employ able young men and help rebuild the western half of the country.

Leonie honestly didn't know much about her father's beliefs. At the age of five, she'd found a red flag with a black swastika hidden in a dresser drawer. She'd asked her mother what the strange crisscrossed design was, and the over-dramatic woman had torn it out of her hands and thrown it into the fireplace. Still, many members of the German upper class had likely possessed such a flag at one time or another, later illegally keeping them as memorabilia. If her father did have connections to any unsavory characters of the Third Reich, he never mentioned them.

As her father's company expanded throughout Europe, her family moved to Great Britain when she was nine-years-old. For the most part, she'd grown up rich and bored, an only child left under the care of nannies or in private school. Her parents frequently traveled, although they always brought her fascinating trinkets and clothing from foreign countries. Her bedroom floor had featured an enormous hand-sewn throw rug from the Middle East, and her shelves were covered with colorful china figurines. That was what had fueled her interest in art and travel, she supposed.

That, and the fact that she was simply restless for most of her life.

"Where exactly are we going after this?" asked Raoul, quickening his pace to walk beside her. Leonie glanced up. "We're not staying in London, I hope?"

"Of course not," she replied, hiding her agitation. "It's a very private place outside of the city. You'll feel very safe there."

"How far is it from London?" Christine asked, slightly out of breath as she rushed up behind them. Leonie thought she detected a note of worry in the girl's voice.

"An hour or so, dear," she replied. "But it's very secure. There will always be armed guards around."

"Oh."

Raoul slowed his stride and resumed walking beside his friend. "You'll be safe," he reassured her.

"I know," she replied. Christine paused and turned toward a small deli. "Can I get something to drink? I'm really thirsty."

"Sure," said Raoul. "I could use one, too. It should only take a minute. The lines aren't that long."

Leonie inwardly cringed. _They were ruining her timing!_ She checked her watch, observing that they still had twenty minutes "That's fine," she replied. "But please be quick. We're on a schedule. For your safety." She folded her arms impatiently and watched them hurry away into the crowds. Anticipation flowed through her veins.

_Her first self-made adrenaline rush had come at the glowing age of fifteen. _She'd shoplifted a white wool sweater from a clothing store, a shop where it was likely that her father could have afforded all the merchandise. The security systems were nearly non-existent at that time, and she'd gotten skilled at getting by the employees. Like everything else, though, petty theft soon became dull.

She'd discovered a second sort of thrill during her early twenties in the form of men, most of them at least a decade older than her and all of them extremely handsome. It amused her how easy it was to make them jealous, just a few whispered words or an exchanged glance with another male. Well, being a 'cute little blonde' was also of assistance when it came to tormenting the opposite gender. Yes, it had been fun. But the thrill of wild, spontaneous nights had ended after a physically painful abortion, one that also left her permanently unable to have children.

She attended a university at her father's request and expense, easily procuring a general business degree. Her mother died of a stroke during her second year in school, and Leonie couldn't help but wonder if it was the result of too many drinks, pills, and cigarettes. They'd been more like distant friends than mother and daughter, and so Leonie never found herself devastated by the passing. In fact, only the death of her father had ever brought a tear to her eye.

After college, Leonie was married to a younger doctor and, much to her father's displeasure, divorced within two years. There was nothing wrong with the surgeon, mind you. Like everyone else, he just bored her, despite his intriguing stories about botched operations and crazed patients. She couldn't sit still and play wife, and she certainly didn't need the money. And, luckily, each new decade brought more social movements that said she didn't have to stay at home and play wife.

Raoul and Christine returned holding their drinks. "Are you ready?" she asked, quickly checking the clock again.

"Yeah," the young man replied. "Let's get going."

Leonie noticed Christine watching her. She couldn't help but wonder what was on that girl's mind, what thoughts were hidden behind those softer features. "We'll be there soon," Leonie stated, turning and walking forward again. "A very nice car is coming to pick us up."

_And Freddie had better be there. Along with at least two of the newspapers. _

She had first met Oliver in school and then later run into him while attending to her father's company. Emmett Neumanns had become ill with both heart disease and sorrow over the passing of his wife. With nothing better to do, she'd reluctantly managed the financial and legal affairs of the factories. Freddie was doing moderately well for himself by their second encounter. He wasn't born into money like the rest of them, but he'd 'befriended' Count Louis de Chagny and electronics entrepreneur Richard Firmin, and they'd introduced him to some profitable investments. Now, they were all considering combining resources with two other ambitious young men. Dear Freddie had been the one to suggest that she throw her admirable lot into the ring with them. After all, she had scored nearly perfect marks throughout business school.

At first, the thought of joining the five men didn't excite her. Just more dull meetings, more contracts and dealings for more money that she didn't really need. After some coaxing from the ruggedly-handsome Frederick, though, she agreed to become the sixth member of the company. All combined their resources and assets to create a dozen or so versatile manufacturing plants across Europe and North America. They kept the corporation closely-held and under their control, only allowing their heirs to ever have access to the fortune.

As time passed, Leonie soon realized that having money wasn't nearly as fun as the power that went with it. There were underhanded dealings and strange mergers and lies and meetings in dark rooms. It was all horribly beautiful. She could argue for hours with the bullies and delicately manipulate the weaklings. It was survival of the fittest in its grandest form. It was utterly thrilling!

And then, it all became a bit darker than even she might have imagined.

Leonie's eyes narrowed as they turned a corner and headed in the direction of the exit, nearing their destination. They took an escalator downstairs and began to walk toward the front glass doors. "What about our luggage?" asked Raoul, glancing around the crowded room.

"We've arranged for the airport employees to fetch it for us. For convenience," she kindly replied. "It will all be loaded into the back."

"Oh!" Christine released a sharp gasp and glanced up with wide eyes. Leonie turned around and smiled with relief. Several suited men with cameras, notebooks, and tape recorders were rushing toward them. Suddenly, they were descended on by flashing lights and rapid questions. Leonie had only chosen to leak the information to a few select newspapers, hoping that their competitive nature would keep them quiet. It was possible that the television stations would also come, and she prepared to get out of there quickly if that happened. The last thing they needed was a live television camera following them to their destination.

Christine attempted to back away from the onrush of journalists. "What's going on?" she asked. "Why are they here?"

"I don't know!" exclaimed Raoul. He turned to look at Leonie. "What the heck is going on?"

Leonie ignored him and watched as Frederick emerged through a set of glass doors, five armed bodyguards trailing on both sides of him. An irritated expression was set upon his face, but he attempted to put on a more sympathetic appearance for the cameras. "There you are," she murmured into his ear, coming to walk beside him. "Let's do this quickly."

He nodded and adjusted his tie. "I still say this was risky. That fiend could be anywhere!"

"It's still daylight," she replied. "He's not going to be out. There's no way he could have known. I kept our names off the flight list."

"Well," stated Frederick through gritted teeth. "Let's damn well hope it works." He turned to a nagging reporter. "Good evening," he stated in a calm voice. "We're still desperately working to find my poor niece. Meanwhile, we have the support of friends and family. We're asking all of London to keep us in their prayers."

"Who's that?" Christine asked from behind them. With the journalists descending on Oliver now, the girl was granted a moment's break from the cameras. Leonie suppressed a laugh. The poor thing looked completely frazzled.

"Oliver," softly replied Raoul, taking several steps forward and smoothing back his hair in an attempt to look presentable. Leonie found herself amused by the girl's expression. She wondered if Freddie had said something extremely vulgar to Christine at one time. Why else would Ms. Daae hold such a grudge against him?

Raoul stepped forward and shook Frederick's hand, still appearing nervous with the cameramen there. They both exchanged a few formal words of greeting. Leonie walked over to Christine and gently took her arm. "Come here, dear. We're going soon. They're just a bunch of silly reporters." Christine reluctantly followed her to where Frederick and Raoul were standing, her gaze drifting to the door as though in search of an escape. She was frantically gnawing at her lip, a look of panic in her blue eyes.

Oliver continued to answer questions. "No, we have no idea where she is…Yes, there is a reward of one million pounds for her safe return…No, I don't know why this happened. He's a monster. That's my only answer."

A reporter who had obviously done his research suddenly turned to Christine. "Is it true you've seen the creature? Ms. Daae, right? Can you add anything to this?"

Christine froze. "No," she stated. "I can't." The questions came at her from all directions.

"Can you describe what he looks like?"

"Did you ever speak to him? What did he say?"

"Can you describe your experiences while in captivity?"

"Did you ever get a look at his face?"

"Hey!" exclaimed Raoul, as an expression of disgust twisted Christine's mouth. He stepped in front of his friend. "Leave her alone! She doesn't know anything!"

"We need to get out of here," muttered Oliver into Leonie's ear.

"Do what we talked about, and we will," she whispered back.

Oliver cleared his throat and spoke. "Ms. Daae and Mr. de Chagny have had a long journey and don't wish to answer questions." A cry of protest rang out from several reporters. "We're very happy to have them here, though, as we come together during these troubled times." Leonie gave him a harsh look. Frederick gritted his teeth, before giving Raoul a friendly pat on the shoulder and laying a quick kiss on the girl's temple. Christine's mouth dropped open as several cameras flashed.

As they all began to quickly make their way to the front doors, Leonie passed a small envelope to one of the members of the press. "See that this gets into the papers," she murmured. "It's scheduled two days from now, starting at six in the evening. All information should be in the letter."

The reporter took it and nodded. "Will do, Ma'am."

Leonie turned around to see that Christine was severely lagging behind them. She gripped the girl by the shoulder and forced her forward. "Time to go, dear," she stated, unable to hide the tinge of contentment in her voice. She swore she felt Christine shudder beneath her fingertips. Once the girl was in the car, Leonie turned to Frederick. "You could have put a little more effort into the kiss," she muttered as they climbed into the vehicle and sat beside each other.

"It was just fine!" he growled back. "Let's get the hell out of here." Leonie took a breath and settled into the seat. Her heart was pounding, and she was nearly lightheaded. The vehicle soon lurched forward and headed for the motorway. Fortunately, the airport was on the very outskirts of the city.

_Let it be said that the poison was really no one's fault._ It had been a blatant mistake, some silly error in filters and drainage within several European plants. She didn't even remember what the contaminant was called. Cadmium? Some sort of organic solvent that was unpronounceable? Maybe a bit of both, actually. A number of miscarriages were reported in rural areas, but the towns were too disorganized and unsocial to make any connections. There was also the rise in various forms of cancer, but she honestly didn't know if that was just a coincidence. She wasn't a chemist, for God's sake. None of them were. De Chagny and Lawrence had gone years without even knowing about the problem, as they were more involved with American affairs.

They looked to the scientists and lower-level managers to fix the problem, all the while ensuring that the evidence disappeared quickly from the local hospitals. The rural health facilities were always in need of financing. Everyone just began leaving the areas to escape the tragedies, and those that remained were elderly or bachelor farmers.

Unfortunately, it was discovered that not all those afflicted had died. Living evidence existed in one of the medical files that the company had examined. Horrific, gruesome evidence that would draw any normal person's attention and make them want to vomit. Thinking that he wouldn't survive past infancy, they'd first attempted to keep him hidden. With that face and an 'allergy' to sunlight, his mother wouldn't dare let him outside. He did live well into childhood, though, and suspicions began to arise around the region. Some irritating man began to make inquiries into the workings of the company, and it was discovered that he had close ties to the deformed child.

And so they'd tried to permanently get rid of the living evidence, but the attempt was a failure. The creature had disappeared for ten years after that, though, and they had let the matter rest, once again enjoying their carefree lives and ever-growing wealth. Louis even calmed down and prepared for the birth of his second son, claiming that he never wanted to be involved in something like that again. Sweet, predictable Louis.

"What was all that?" Raoul asked, as the car sped forward. "Why were all of those reporters here? I thought this was secure!"

"Something must have gotten leaked to them," Oliver replied with a shrug. "It happens, my boy."

Christine glanced backward with eyes that were filled with horror. "Is that going to be on television? What-what's going to happen?"

"No, dear," replied Leonie. "Just the papers, hopefully. You're perfectly safe."

Christine paled. Leonie examined her. Whatever that fiend had done, the girl was scared to death of him. Christine buried her face into her hands, and Raoul put an arm around her shoulders. "It's going to be okay," he murmured. "You're safe. It's fine." The girl just miserably shook her head.

Leonie leaned back into the seat and closed her eyes. "Well, that went well," Freddie whispered from beside her. She softly laughed.

_A lawsuit had popped up almost a decade later_. It was to be an easy win for the company, as the plaintiff was uneducated and nearly impoverished. Most of the drainage problems had been fixed by that time, and so there was little evidence of any wrongdoing. Even the environmentally-conscious government couldn't come up with anything substantial. Then, completely out of nowhere, the 'living' evidence had showed up again, also wanting retribution. De Chagny and Lawrence had wanted to negotiate with the creature, but she and Oliver hadn't wanted to run the risk. By that time, television was everywhere, complete with twenty-four hour news channels. Once his face was on the screen, there would be a catastrophe. The creature's face was so completely and utterly distorted that no normal birth defect could have caused the horror.

She'd actually talked to _him_ on the telephone days before the fateful meeting, pretending to be an unknowledgeable secretary. She'd been the only member of _Falcon_ to ever have a conversation with the creature, unless of course he had engaged in small talk before slaughtering the others. Her first thought was that he possessed an extremely pleasant voice for something that hideous. He could fool people with that beautiful voice, make them imagine that he looked like an Adonis rather than a living corpse. Had he not posed such a threat to the corporation's well-being, she might have found him useful.

She'd arranged his doom, arranged the accusations and sorry excuse for a trial. Oliver had arranged the violent arrest, and Firmin had handled the paperwork. Everyone wanted to believe that something that appeared as he did had to be evil, and so all went as planned. He was tackled to the ground, arrested, and dragged away.

Weeks after he'd been found guilty of all murder charges, Leonie had been permitted to peek into his cell at a maximum security prison. He was huddled by himself on a bench in a corner, the standard uniform bloodied from the work of the other prisoners. The cheap material hung loosely on his skeletal frame and was not long enough to cover his arms and legs. His horrific face was buried and hidden in his bruised hands; the mask had never been returned to him. He was silent and motionless, save for the rise and fall of his bony shoulders. Once or twice, he flinched at the loud voices of the other inmates.

She'd left the prison to catch a flight for a tour of the Mediterranean, making a guess that he'd be dead within a year. She'd obviously been wrong. They must have put him into an isolated cell soon afterwards in an attempt to spare him from the other prisoners. There was no way in hell he would have survived otherwise.


	43. Betrayal

Hey guys! Thank you for all your comments. Once again, this chapter is a bit rough. The chapters following this one, though, are going to be pivotal. Part 3 will probably end around Chapter 50. Then, there will be one more part left to this story.

Thanks again. I'll try to keep updating once a week, but there may be a short delay with exams coming up.

**Read and Review!!!**

With the time change between countries and continents, they had lost six hours, and the sun had just set in London. Christine stared out the tinted windows of the moving vehicle, wringing her hands together while attempting to appear outwardly calm. They'd sped away from the city so quickly that she'd barely had the opportunity to look at her foreign surroundings. The lights of houses and buildings soon became sparser, and so she guessed that they were heading to a less populated area. Bare trees occasionally cast shadows over the car. Feeling cold, she wrapped her winter jacket tightly around her torso and leaned back into the seat.

Frederick Oliver put a large hand over his mouth and yawned, reclining and stretching out his legs in the spacious floor area. When they had first left the airport, his jaw had been clenched and his eyes had shifted with anxiety. Now, he just appeared tired and bored. She found it strange to see the man that Erik despised so greatly, especially because Mr. Oliver really wasn't that intimidating in comparison to her beloved. Like Leonie, he might have been attractive in youth, but lines of age were now drawn throughout his haggard face. He was dressed in a pressed grey suit that nearly matched his thinning hair and narrow eyebrows. Frederick was nothing more than an old, rich man.

"How are you doing?" Raoul softly asked from beside her. "We should be there soon."

"I'm fine," she murmured, grateful to have her friend there but also troubled by how much he trusted these people. An unpleasant gnawing sensation lingered inside of her stomach as the car continued forward. With each passing mile, she was becoming more out of control of the situation. Christine had even considered fleeing at the airport, but the sight of Oliver's quintet of bodyguards had stopped her. The reporters had surrounded her before she even understood what was happening, asking intrusive questions about Erik. And then Mr. Oliver had kissed her! The gesture was more of a friendly greeting than a sign of affection, but the cameras had captured it. The cameras had captured everything.

_Would Erik somehow see it? _She placed a hand to her forehead in distress. What would he do? Especially with Raoul standing right beside her, he would think…_No._

Panic welled up in the back of her throat, choking her, and she began to hate herself for agreeing to come there. She'd simply been so desperate to get to London that the consequences had bypassed her. Especially after hearing that Erik was injured, her heart had ached to get there. _And do what? What good could you do?_

Then again, maybe she'd never had a choice in the matter with Leonie in control. For all she knew, Frederick and Leonie did have ties to the government. She supposed that she could have let them drag her kicking and screaming into the airplane.

As the car turned right and began down a bumpy, winding path, Christine decided that it was too late to wonder and make second guesses. "Where are we?" she softly asked, gazing at the outlines of an empty field. She could see a few square blocks of light in the distance.

"About an hour north of London," Frederick replied. "It's a country house that I occasionally use to escape the city. No one knows of it. Or at least, they had better not."

"Well, that's reassuring," replied Raoul, obviously still irked over the incident with the journalists. Christine swore that she saw Leonie slightly smirk.

When the car stopped with a jolt, the doors automatically unlocked. She followed Raoul outside, shivering as a cold gust of air hit her face and ruffled her hair. The faint smells of pine and other vegetation drifted around her. At the end of a flat stone path was a quaint two-story brick home with white shutters on each of the four windows and a perfectly triangular black roof. No one would ever suspect that a multi-millionaire lived there, and she supposed that was the intention. Three of the windows were lit up.

"No one will get you here," stated Leonie, slowly guiding her forward by the shoulders. Christine resisted the urge to flinch away from the woman, quickly increasing her pace to walk beside Raoul. The driver unloaded their suitcases and carried them to the door, before frowning down at the tip that Oliver gave him.

If the outside of the house was plain, the inside more than made up for it. Expensive leather sofas and armchairs decked the front rooms, along with a handcrafted set of oak wood furniture and a grand piano. A fluffy throw rug decked the polished wooden floors, and the staircase spiraled upwards with a glistening black iron handrail. "Very nice," stated Leonie, glancing it over.

"Isn't it?" replied Frederick. "And it's the cheapest piece of property that I own."

Christine and Raoul stood beside their suitcases, awkwardly awaiting instructions or directions. Christine looked around at the various doors and windows, curious as to whether they were really guarded and wondering if escape was even possible. A younger brunette woman wearing an apron over a white turtleneck and tight-fitting jeans suddenly entered, wiping off her hands on a rag. "Emily!" exclaimed Oliver with a glint of appreciation in his eyes. "These are the guests. Everything ready?"

"Yes," she tiredly replied, her accent a bit stronger than his. "Everything's set."

"You can help _me _get settled," stated Leonie. Christine noticed a sour edge in her tone.

"Actually," Oliver began, clearing his throat. "I think she'd be better off helping these two."

"Uh. I'll be fine on my own," said Raoul, picking up his suitcase and eyeing them all with unease. "Just tell me where my room is. I'm going to bed soon."

"Over there on the left," Emily replied, leading them down a short hallway and pointing to a door. "There's a bathroom right beside it. I'll bring towels in a second." She turned to Christine. "And you're down the hall. You wanted your own room, right?"

"Right," Christine quickly replied, following behind her. "So we're north of London?" she hesitantly asked, staring at the watercolor paintings on the white walls. They were likely all originals.

"Yep," she replied, leading Christine into a smaller bedroom. "About a hundred kilometers north."

"Have you been to London a lot?"

"I've lived there all my life, Ma'am. My family's there."

"Is it easy to get around in?" Christine eagerly asked, keeping the volume of her voice low. "How big is it?"

Emily laughed. "Maybe you should get yourself a tour guide. It's big. But there's a lot of ways to get around. Just grab a bus or a subway. You'll get where you want to go." Christine nodded and took a seat on the red and green plaid bedspread, feeling the stress of the day weighing on her shoulders. Emily laid some washcloths on the dresser. "Well, that's about it. I think you've got all you need. I-Oh! One more thing." She slid open the wooden door of a closet and pulled out two dresses. Both were long-sleeved and designed to reach the ankles, modest yet elegant. The velvet one was midnight blue with a v-neck and sequins dotting the sleeves and hem. The white gown was satin and had more ruffles throughout the bodice and skirt. "Pick one of these."

Christine blinked. "For what?"

"Some kind of dinner, I think. In London." Emily grinned. "But Mr. Oliver said I get the one that you don't want. We're the same size!"

"What dinner?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. It's the day after tomorrow. Some banquet for Carlotta Glouer. You're supposed to pick a dress. Aren't they nice?"

"I don't know anything about that," Christine protested.

"Well, I sure don't know. But picking a dress won't do you any harm."

Christine stared up at the gowns, feeling more disturbed by the moment. "Which one do you want?"

"I like the blue, personally. I look good in a v-neck."

"Then I'll take the white," she tiredly replied. Hearing a door close down the hall, Christine excused herself and scurried out of the bedroom. "Raoul!" she called, before he could go into the bathroom.

"Yeah?" He stepped out looking haggard, his white dress shirt half untucked and wrinkled. "Are you all right? What's wrong?"

"Are we going to some kind of dinner on behalf of Carlotta?"

He rubbed his eyes with one hand. "Not that I heard of. Why?"

"Emily just said that we were. It's in London! Raoul! What's going on?"

"Calm down," he replied, laying a hand on her shoulder. "Maybe it's just a misunderstanding. I'll talk to Oliver." Raoul turned around and watched as Emily and Frederick headed into the master bedroom. He released an exasperated sigh and shook his head. "I'll talk to him tomorrow. I promise. Try to get some rest. Everything will be fine."

Christine wearily nodded, wishing that she could trust him to help her. But Raoul would never understand, especially with Frederick and Leonie guiding his thoughts. "All right. Have a good night."

"You, too."

She headed back to her bedroom as a feeling of hopelessness descended over her. Erik was somewhere out there, within an hour's drive, and when he found out where she was…

Christine shuddered. Her eyes wandered around the little bedroom. Outside of the tan wooden furniture, it was nearly empty, decorated with a few vases of fake flowers. She remembered the smile on Leonie's face when the cameramen had appeared, and Frederick's nonchalant attitude toward the entire ordeal. There were no coincidences. They'd wanted Erik to know she was there. For the second time in less than a year, she was a captive, nothing but a pawn in a maddening game. And, once again, the stakes were excruciatingly high.

* * *

Nadir was reclining against one of the cold brick walls with his legs stretched out in front of him. One of the blankets covered him up to his waist. The frigid environment was making him lethargic, and he didn't think that the stale air could be good for anyone's health. Every day, he checked on Carlotta to ensure that her condition wasn't critical. He didn't know what he was going to do if she did become ill, outside of begging Erik to release the poor woman. 

His comrade continued to go out for many hours every night, especially since his leg had begun to heal. Erik seemed certain that Oliver was somewhere in the country, but he usually returned irritated with the lack of tangible proof. He was becoming irate and impatient, although, much to Nadir's relief, he seemed to be holding onto his sanity. On several occasions, Mr. Khan considered asking Erik if he would ever be willing to give up this insane hunt for Oliver.

Of course, that would ultimately lead to a conversation about Ms. Daae. Once he left England, Erik was still determined to find her, and Nadir didn't even want to consider the possibilities of what might happen. He could just imagine that poor girl screaming and running at the first sight of the masked man. Nadir still didn't know what was real and what was a product of Erik's distorted mind. All he could do was wait in the darkness for Erik to take action. Mr. Khan's days were spent sleeping, eating, checking on Carlotta, and reading the newspaper or occasional magazine that Erik brought down.

Feeling another's presence, Nadir glanced up and saw that Erik had silently entered the tunnels. The yellow eyes appeared annoyed and tired. "Erik," he stated, sitting upright. "Did you find anything?"

"No," he grimly replied. "Nothing. I intend to visit another bank tomorrow night. I may need to resort to ulterior methods for gathering information. Intimidation would be ideal, but it would alert Oliver to my intentions." Reaching into his suit jacket, he pulled out two newspapers, tossing one at Nadir's feet and taking the other for himself. "Tell me if you see anything of that vile man. Anything at all. Tell me if there is any news of Carlotta as well."

"Of course." Nadir picked the paper up with a yawn, considering saving it for later. Really, it was his only form of entertainment down there. He'd even asked Erik for a pencil to complete the various puzzles and word searches, although Nadir could never convince Erik to take a break and join him in the games.

Mr. Khan glanced over the first page, noting a few international affairs with disinterest. Countries argued and went to war and nothing ever changed. He quickly turned to the second page.

His gaze drifted downward and then froze upon an image. A chill traveled through his weakened body, and his grip on the paper tightened. He blinked three times in disbelief, feeling his breath catch in his throat. His eyes shot up, just in time to see Erik turn to the second page. "Erik. Please don't…"

"Hush!" his masked comrade snarled. Nadir could see Erik's arms shaking as the yellow eyes focused on the photograph. An eerie period of silence passed. "She would not," Erik hoarsely whispered, his gaze unmoving. "She would not…"

"She's just a girl," stated Nadir with as much compassion as possible. His eyes drifted down to the black-and-white picture. Christine, Raoul, Frederick, and Leonie were all standing beside each other, staring into the cameras. _Millionaire Oliver Returns to Britain in Hopes of Finding Niece_. Several smaller pictures on the sides revealed the two men shaking hands. In another photograph, Oliver was giving Christine a kiss on the temple. _Friends from U.S. Join Oliver in Show of Support. _Nadir's stomach wrenched. "She's just a silly girl who knows nothing of any of this. Forget her."

"No!" Erik shrilly snapped. Nadir quickly stood up and braced himself. "No! She would not be with them." His tenor voice shook, each word taking on a new volume and pitch. "She would not be with them. She-she asked me to come back to her." His shoulders were heaving. "They have her! She does not wish to be with them." The eyes glowed vehemently, and the skeletal fingers crushed and tore the sides of the newspaper.

"Erik," Nadir pled. "Listen to me. Forget her. She is on vacation with de Chagny and-"

"She is not with the boy!" Erik took a dangerous step toward him. Nadir stepped backwards and ran into the wall. "Silence yourself, Nadir. You understand nothing of this. She is not with him!"

"Erik. There are many-"

"There is only her!" Erik looked back at the article, his eyes moving back and forth as he rapidly read the words, desperately searching every sentence for some sort of hope. Nadir didn't dare say a word, didn't dare move. "Ah," Erik murmured after a moment. "They have taken her, but she will come to me. You see, Nadir. A banquet. Tomorrow. She will be there. She will come."

Nadir looked down at his copy and frantically read over the article. Some sort of dinner was to be held on Carlotta's behalf, and all four of them would _supposedly_ be there. He frowned. It was all too easy. All four of them in London? Announcing their location to the world? It was utterly ridiculous. Suddenly, Nadir understood. "That's what they want you to do!" he exclaimed, forgetting his earlier fear. "They somehow know of your feelings for that damned girl. They're using her to get to you."

"I do not care!" he snarled. "I will go to her, and she will come to me. She will, Nadir. She will. She will. No one else will see me but her. And I will put my voice beside her ear. Like this." Nadir shuddered as Erik threw his voice in the vicinity of his left ear. "And she will come."

Mr. Khan shook his head, knowing that it was time to shatter this dangerous delusion. "And what if she screams? What if she tells someone? You'll be shot on sight."

"She will not scream, you imbecile! She…she cares for me. She kissed me…"

Uncertainty and desperation flashed within the yellow eyes, betraying the confidence in Erik's voice. Nadir understood. If the girl had deceived Erik, or if the entire time spent with her was nothing but a figment of his imagination, then Erik was very ready to die. Mr. Khan tried again, praying he could reach what was left of his comrade's sanity. "Erik. There are other women out there." The lie was horribly bitter on his tongue. He felt wretched. "If that is what you want, it does not end with this silly girl."

Erik laughed, a staccato chuckle that could have been mistaken for choking. "After all this time, do you really believe me that stupid?" he questioned. "Yes, Nadir," he hissed. "The women line up for me, don't they? I am a kind of Don Juan, aren't I?" He chuckled again. "There is only her, Nadir. There is only her."

Nadir shook his head. "Don't do this. Not right now. It is suicide!"

"She cannot be with them! Not Oliver! Not for a moment longer! And not that wretched boy! I will not allow it! She will come to me!"

"Erik…"

"I am not mad, Nadir! I am quite sane right now! I will slit Oliver's throat right there, if I have to. Oliver has taken everything! _Everything!_ But he will not take her. Not her! She will not betray me." Nadir just stood there helplessly, his arms limply at his sides. Erik's gaze drifted to the closet that contained Carlotta. "Perhaps that screeching woman will be of use. Or perhaps Oliver should watch his niece die before I kill him."

Erik's eyes flickered between desperation and utter devastation, his mind conflicting between wanting to believe the impossible and knowing the truth. The hope that Erik had for that girl was fragile, and the newspaper article had nearly demolished it. And once the hope was gone, there would be nothing left.

If that girl did not come to Erik, if she screamed and ran at the sight of him, then Erik would take his final act of vengeance. Erik would die murdering Frederick Oliver, would snap that man's neck as hundreds of bullets were simultaneously fired into his body. And Nadir knew that nothing he said would stop his friend.

As Nadir watched Erik approach the closet that held Carlotta, a sickening sensation descended over him, twisting his stomach and weighing against his chest. People were going to die. Carlotta Glouer was going to find herself within the tight confines of Erik's lasso. Christine was going to end up murdered or kidnapped, not understanding that she was part of Erik's twisted fantasy. And Allah only knew how many others would perish.

Erik stopped walking toward the closet and stared down at the article again, muttering under his breath. "She would not. She would not. She would not." He repeated the phrase over and over to himself. "You will see, Nadir. You will…" He reverently moved his bony fingers over the face of Ms. Daae, his breath unsteady.

Feeling helpless, Nadir looked at the ground in despair and suddenly noticed something lying beside the bandages, tweezers, and other medical supplies. His heart jumped as a possible course of action became painfully apparent. Holding his breath, he pretended to drop his newspaper and then slowly bent down to pick it up. Erik was too absorbed with Ms. Daae's picture to even notice, was lost within his own thoughts. As Nadir scooped up the paper, he discreetly grabbed one of the syringes that Erik had used upon Carlotta. With his back toward Erik, Nadir examined it to see if there was still fluid within the cylindrical tube. _Just enough in that one._ The cold air of the tunnels had likely preserved the sedatives.

Nadir closed his eyes, knowing that if he failed, he would likely die for trying. But he couldn't do this anymore. Although he wouldn't have minded seeing Oliver hang, Nadir could not destroy the lives of two innocent young women. His masked comrade was completely mad.

Erik's head was bowed, his eyes still intensely focused on the image. Taking a deep breath, Nadir lunged forward with the syringe, jabbing his comrade in the arm and praying that he had hit the vein. Nadir was the only person that Erik would dare turn his back on, and Mr. Khan had cruelly used that to his advantage. He was the only person in the world that Erik confided in, and he had just betrayed that trust.

_But there had been so few choices._

Erik rapidly turned around at the stinging sensation, and Nadir stepped backward, clutching onto the syringe with an apologetic expression. Confusion and then rage filled Erik's glowing eyes as he looked down at the needle and dropped the newspaper. He started to take a step forward with his arms outstretched, stumbling as the drugs quickly filled his thin veins and spread throughout his emaciated frame. "Nadir," he murderously hissed as his body began to go limp. "You…"

"I am sorry," Nadir whispered, reaching out and grabbing onto Erik's arms. He helped his friend down to the frigid ground as he collapsed. Erik silently stared up at him with utter hatred, futilely attempting to fight unconsciousness. "I cannot allow this anymore. Death of innocents. Kidnapping. She's just a young, silly girl. But she doesn't deserve that. Let her go."

Erik's eyes flickered and dimmed, his arms and legs becoming motionless. "But I love her," he finally whispered. The yellow glow was extinguished, leaving two black voids behind the eyeholes of the mask.

Nadir stared down at his unconscious friend, feeling a tear fall down his wrinkled cheek. A horrible thought made its way into his mind, the realization that this might be his sole opportunity to end it all. He could smother Erik, put him out of his misery and free him from this horrific life, free him from the delusion that Christine Daae cared about him.

Erik would never give the world anything but death and pain, and the world would never accept Erik. He was going to kill himself anyway, after he realized the painful truth of his madness.

Mr. Khan choked back a sob as he picked up two of the plush blankets and squished them in the palms of his hands. It wouldn't take much. If Erik had a physical weakness, it was his occasional breathing problems. The heavy feeling in Nadir's chest swelled as he contemplated the horrific act. Was it crueler to keep Erik alive or give him peace? What was best for mankind? What was best for anyone?

When Erik had fallen, the newspaper had dropped from his hands, landing on the ground with the second page face up. Nadir momentarily stared down at Ms. Daae, studying her expression. She looked unhappy in all the photographs. The corners of her lips were slightly turned down, and her eyes appeared frantic. Her mood could be blamed on many things, though. His gaze then drifted to an article on the third page, one he hadn't noticed until now.

_Policeman critically injured in smoke attack expected to make full recovery. Death toll still stands at zero._

Erik had let everyone live that night. Why? After he had mindlessly killed dozens, why had he actually put effort into sparing a man's life?

What if there was something more?

Nadir dropped the pile of blankets onto the ground and sighed. He couldn't kill Erik like that, as if he were euthanizing a rabid animal. He would be no better than the members of _Falcon_ if he resorted to that mentality and murdered his friend, especially after Erik had saved him from a lifetime in prison. Still, he knew that he needed to get Carlotta out of there. And he needed to keep Erik unconscious until that damned banquet has passed.

But then what? When Erik woke up, he would likely kill Nadir at first sight.

Mr. Khan again looked down at Christine Daae. In one picture, her hands were visible, and the diamond ring was clearly absent from her fingers. If only there was a way to talk to her, at least give her warning. If only there was a way to bring clarity to this insanity.

A feeling of resolve overtook the aging man, and he studied the tunnels, knowing that it would be a miracle if he didn't get lost. At least he had some idea of the directions that Erik took to exit the tunnels, and his friend had once told him of an escape route to be used if an intruder ever came down. Still, it would be difficult.

If his end was coming, though, then Nadir accepted it. But first, he was at least going to attempt to right some wrongs.


	44. Decisions, Decisions

The ending of the chapter will probably leave you with a few questions, but I'll give you Christine's point of view in the next chapter. That should fill in the details. Enjoy!

**Read and Review!!!**

The dim morning sun shone through the picture window and into the living area, causing the array of decorative vases and statues to shine in an almost gaudy way. Raoul blinked in the light and watched as Oliver slowly emerged from the master bedroom wearing a pressed blue dress shirt and pair of brown trousers. "Frederick." The younger man steadied his voice and straightened his tie, attempting to appear respectable.

Oliver glanced up and squinted at him. "Oh. Morning, Raoul. Did you need something? I can get Emily up to make you breakfast if you-"

"No, thank you," he interrupted. "I was just wondering if I could speak with you. Maybe in private." He cleared his throat and tried to maintain eye contact.

"What time is it?" Oliver asked, sounding slightly annoyed.

"A little past eight."

"Are you sure it can't wait till later?"

Raoul held firm. "I'd really like to ask you a couple of things, especially after yesterday."

Oliver sighed and waved his hand to the side. "Fine. Let me find my glasses. We'll go into my office."

"Thank you," murmured Raoul, following the older man into a small and dim room. A refurbished mahogany desk sat in the center with several plush swiveling chairs centered around it. Pictures of green woodland landscapes hung on the wall, along with a small pair of framed deer antlers. Raoul took a seat and folded his hands together. After putting on a pair of small-framed glasses, Frederick sat across from him and leaned back into the chair.

"How can I help you?" he asked, looking a hundred times more relaxed than Raoul currently felt.

"Well…" Raoul paused. He wanted to begin with less offensive questions. "I guess I'll just start at the beginning. Can you give me any insight into why all of this is happening? Of all the people out there, why has this madman decided to come after us?"

Frederick sat up straighter and eyed him closely. "How much did Louis tell you? Or Phillip?"

A heavy feeling encased Raoul's heart at the mention of his father and brother, but he forced the emotions away. "When…when the first two main guys died, my dad just said some people were mad at the company. He never really said why, except maybe that there was a lawsuit at a plant. A few people got sick or something. He always said that he wasn't directly responsible…that it was someone else's fault…"

Frederick slowly nodded. "I see."

"And Phillip was supposed to give some people money after my father died." Raoul looked down. "But he never did. I don't know why, but he fled the country soon afterward. Anyway, that's about all I know."

"Well, you know most of it, then," replied Frederick, leaning back again. "The monster merely overreacted to minor problems with one of the factories. Personally, I just think he gets off on killing people. Forget excusing the behavior. The important thing is that we catch him, right?"

"I guess so," Raoul replied. "I was just wondering if there was more to it…if there was a reason behind all of this madness…"

"Some people are just twisted, my boy. Some people are disgusting and evil. They'll make up any reason to excuse their behavior."

Raoul slowly nodded, realizing he wasn't going to get much more information on the matter. For all he knew, he had the complete truth. Serial killers often had no motives for what they did, save for their own twisted psychological explanations. He changed subjects. "I also wanted to ask you about the banquet for Carlotta. Christine said she was told by your housekeeper that we were all going to a dinner in London. I thought there had to be some sort of misunderstanding."

"Ah." Oliver cleared his throat and frowned. "Well, I thought it would be nice to have a show of support for her. Things aren't looking too good for my poor niece, and London loved her very much."

"But isn't that dangerous?" he protested. "In London? With all of us there? Especially with Christine."

Oliver shook his head. "There will be plenty of security. You'll be just fine. He probably won't even know about it. This is a very private affair."

"But what if he does find out!" Raoul exclaimed, no longer composed.

"Like I said," stated Frederick. "It'll be guarded. And he's not going to bomb the place. Not with her there. Right?" He studied Raoul.

Raoul swallowed, feeling an unpleasant taste form in his mouth. "Are you…are you using her like a shield?"

"No! Of course not," Mr. Oliver replied with a scoff. "It has nothing to do with her. Her presence simply…alters the circumstances. We'll have to keep a close eye on her, of course. I'll have bodyguards near her at all times."

"Oh. That's good."

"That said," continued Oliver, "it is of extreme interest for us to know if he would harm her. What do you think, Raoul? Would he hurt her?"

Raoul shook his head. "I don't know. I can't answer that."

"Come now. You must know something. He could attempt to use her in some way to his benefit. He's sick enough to do it. Do you think he'd risk killing her?"

Raoul put his forehead into his hands, feeling several repressed memories leak into his mind. The night that he had almost died seemed so long ago. So much of it was an unrecognizable blur.

"_A single kind thought…in exchange for a single life…One moment of peace in this lifetime_. Christine._ Is that a fair bargain? Is it? I cannot think…Christine…"_

He remembered that words had been exchanged between them. They were not filled with hate but rather with pain and desperation. Christine was the reason that he was alive. "No," Raoul softly replied. "I don't think he would kill her."

"Well, good," stated Frederick. "That's very useful."

Raoul stared downwards, his early confidence leaving him. "After this is over, I'm going back home with her. I'm tired of all this."

"Oh. Well, now that's a shame," slowly stated Frederick, cocking his head to the side. "I was also planning to leave. And…I was intending to give you my entire share of the corporation."

Raoul sharply glanced up. "What? Why?"

Frederick shrugged. "I'm done with it, I guess. I want to retire someplace warm and enjoy the rest of my life. I've had my fun. It's time for someone else to take over. And you're competent. You'd be one hell of a businessman."

"I don't know," murmured Raoul. "I don't know if I could handle all of that."

"Don't be ridiculous," stated Frederick. "It's easy. Do you know how much power you'd have in Europe? And Leonie will probably stick around for a bit…help you figure out how things work around here. It's the opportunity of a lifetime. Forget Count de Chagny. Try King de Chagny." He chuckled and briefly removed his glasses.

Raoul hesitated, unable to mentally process all that he was being told. He was too stressed to even make a decision at that moment. "Well, maybe," he murmured. "But let's get this nightmare over with first. And Christine…"

"Christine," repeated Oliver with amusement. "You still have a liking for that dame. Not that I blame you. She's a doll. But, honestly, if you want to win her back, you might want to take me up on my offer."

"What?"

Oliver laughed and rubbed his eyes. "You'll have power, my boy. Women like men with power, men who can control their own destinies. It's natural selection…or something like that."

"Now, I don't think that's necessarily right," retorted Raoul, feeling small under Oliver's smug and intelligent gaze.

"Of course it is. Now don't get offended. I'm just sharing my experience with you. I was very popular with the ladies because I knew what I wanted and managed to get it. I was always in control. Women don't really like nice guys, at least not most of them." Oliver suddenly stood up, startling Raoul. "Now go to the banquet with the girl and be assertive. If any problems arise, there will be over a dozen armed guards there to take care of them. And think carefully about my offer."

Raoul slowly stood up as well, attempting to sort his thoughts. The older man had a knack for speaking quickly, a trait that had likely served him well during heated negotiations. "All right, Frederick. I'll think about it. I just wish all of this would end."

"And it will!" exclaimed Oliver. "We'll kill him soon enough, now that we're working together." He put an arm around Raoul's shoulders and led him out of the office. "Now to more important things, though. Coffee or tea?"

"Coffee, I guess," he tiredly replied. Raoul softly chuckled. "Better make it extra strong."

"I'll have Emily make us some," he replied with good humor. "That girl is really worth every bit that I pay her."

* * *

It didn't take much effort for Christine to realize that she needed to escape the brick prison. To Frederick and Leonie, she was nothing more than bait, and only Raoul's presence was keeping her unharmed. Although she repeatedly considered asking her friend for help, she never knew if she could trust him. Especially if he was aware of her time spent with Erik last autumn, Raoul would likely go to any means necessary to keep her away from him, thinking her insane. She didn't even want to imagine what Frederick and Leonie would do with the information. 

Her upper hand still lay in the fact that they all believed her to be terrified. They would never expect her to escape from them with the 'monster' on the loose. Knowing that it was too risky to run from the isolated home, she decided to wait for the banquet. All she could do was hope that Erik made no attempt to rescue her.

The thought of escaping made her stomach clench with fear. Where would she hide? What would she do? Yet staying with these people seemed just as dangerous, especially where Erik was concerned. The thought of him dying because of her stupidity was too horrible, and it was at these desperate times that she realized how much he truly meant to her. And even though everything seemed completely hopeless, she had to try and make it better. She couldn't just stay there and wait for everything to fall apart.

Assuming she managed to get away, Raoul was going to be sickened by her disappearance. Her last hope was to attempt to tell her friend that she didn't trust Frederick without ever bringing up Erik. Christine just wished she knew why Erik hated these people; it would have given her more of an argument against them.

She looked around the small room, running a hand through her tangled hair as she attempted to decide what to bring with her. Money, definitely. She would have her purse and could carry smaller items, along with her billfold and travel documents. Could she sneak an extra pair of clothes into her winter coat? Was there a way to call a taxi and get away quickly? She wondered if she could find Gavin's contact. Of course, she would still need a way to disguise herself. Raoul likely carried a photograph of her, and her picture would soon be all over the news.

With nothing else to do except worry for the next two days, Christine spent some of her time looking around the house and attempting to calm her nerves. Leonie had disappeared early that morning with a scowl on her face, and Frederick and Raoul were usually involved in private conversations. Occasionally, she exchanged a few words with Emily in an attempt to find out more about London. The younger woman was friendly, although she was clueless to the events going on around her. She seemed very eager to please Frederick, which made Christine wary of trusting her.

After telling Emily that she wasn't hungry around lunchtime, Christine wandered into the formal sitting area. The floral-printed furniture was covered in plastic, and the fluffy carpet appeared as though it had barely been stepped on. Feeling out of place, she started to turn around, before noticing some of the pictures that covered the wall. They were framed photographs. One of them had six people, five young men and one young woman, standing in front of a shining red sports car and smiling as though they owned the world. She recognized Louis, Frederick, and Leonie and guessed that the man with his arm around Louis' shoulder was Mr. Lawrence.

_Mr. Lawrence…he's dead. They think suicide. _

_That's awful! Why would he do that?_

She unhappily sighed and looked at the other photos. Most of them had Oliver in a variety of settings with some of the other members of the company. There was a picture of him in the mountains with either Firmin or Andre and a photo of him tanning at the beach with a slim-figured Leonie. In another picture, Louis was standing with a cheerful woman at his side and a baby in his arms. Christine could only guess that they were Raoul's mother and Phillip.

Were these smiling, fun-loving people really capable of trying to kill a little boy? What if Erik was wrong? Nadir had been completely sane of mind, though, and he had also held a strong grudge against them. And Oliver's horrible letter to Louis…

"What are you doing in here?"

Christine whirled around to face Raoul, her face turning a little red. "Oh. Hi. Just…looking at the pictures."

"I see. Yeah. It's fun seeing everyone when they were younger." He glanced over the walls. "Wow. There's Lawrence." He shook his head. "What a tragedy…"

"Yeah," she murmured, not wanting the topic of conversation to drift to Erik. "Did you find out any more about the banquet?"

Raoul slowly nodded. "It's just supposed to be in memory of Carlotta. Frederick doesn't think she's going to survive this, I guess. Anyway, there's going to be a bunch of armed bodyguards there. You should be safe. But…if you don't want to go, I'll tell Frederick."

Christine paused. She could try to get out of going to the banquet. _But it might be her only chance… _"No. I think I'll go. Maybe it'll be nice." She forced a smile.

Raoul somberly nodded. "You should be fine. Just stay close." Christine averted her eyes. "I know you're not thrilled to be here," her friend continued. "I'll get you back home as soon as this is over…after he's finally been captured."

She frowned at the way he said it. "What about you?"

"I may stay here for a bit. Frederick wants to give me his share of the corporation. He's retiring. I don't know. I may take him up on the offer. I don't have anything back home, so it might be nice to see some of the world."

Christine hesitated and looked back up. "Raoul? Do you ever get the feeling that everything's not right here?"

"What do you mean?"

"I think that they…There's…Never mind," she softly replied. She didn't even know enough to make an accusation. "Forget it. Congratulations on the…new job."

"Well, it's not definite yet. But thanks." He paused. "You could stay here with me if you wanted. We'd have everything. We could travel anywhere you wanted." Raoul gestured to the photographs, all the while avoiding eye contact.

Looking at Louis' picture again, she suddenly realized why it was so difficult for Raoul to delve into the past. How would she feel if someone tried to tell her that her father was a part of something terrible? A lump formed at the back of her throat. "I don't think so," she gently replied. He just nodded and slowly began to turn around. "Raoul…" She put a hand on his shoulder. "Please promise me that you'll be careful with all of this. Just…follow your own common sense. Don't just listen to everyone else."

He turned and looked at her oddly. "I won't."

"All right." She watched her friend leave. How had they gone from being a happily engaged couple to two people with shadows around their eyes that had strange conversations in gilded rooms? What if Erik had never kidnapped them?

Of course, now that she knew Erik, she wouldn't take the last year back. Even with all the terror, pain, and tears, she couldn't wish the last few months away. And even if all these truths were confusing, Christine found that she preferred them to naivety.

She looked at the pictures one last time, wishing that she could step into the past and find answers. As soon as she found Erik, and assuming that he hadn't forgotten about her, she was going to ask questions. Despite what Erik believed, she had the feeling that the truth would be liberating…and perhaps bring them closer.

* * *

Nadir's primary goals were to get Carlotta aboveground and ensure that Erik slept through the banquet. Beyond that, though, he continued to debate what path to take when it came to Ms. Daae. Should he merely do nothing and incur Erik's wrath? No matter how many people he had to kill, Erik would ultimately find a way to get to that girl. All Nadir had done was delay the deadly mission. 

Mr. Khan then puzzled over whether there was a way for him to get to Ms. Daae before Erik could. At least he could attempt to sort out this mess and make sure that Erik's memories really were delusions. Still, it would be nearly impossible for him to get access to her at the banquet; the event would be heavily guard. And even if he was able to make contact with her, she might scream and alert the authorities.

After thinking over the matter for hours, Nadir decided to at least go to the dinner and glance it over, see if any opportunities presented themselves. If it appeared that finding Christine was impossible, then he would return underground and pray that he could talk some sense into Erik. Maybe Erik would murder him, but the situation had become too desperate and hopeless for Nadir to really care anymore.

Erik possessed a small map of London that he had used to find places around the city, especially when he was searching for Oliver's contacts. Assuming that the location in the newspaper was correct, Nadir ascertained that it would take him over four hours to walk to the building, and so that left him with the task of finding some sort of transportation.

Although having Carlotta would have given him bargaining power in the case that an authority figure did spot him, it would be impossible to bring her that distance without being noticed. If Carlotta was discovered before the banquet, then the event would be canceled and all hopes of finding Christine would truly be lost. Nadir decided to leave Ms. Glouer right behind the tunnel's entrance, along with a good distance from Erik, before he left and then take her to a safe location after he returned.

The night before the dinner, Nadir ensured that he knew his way out of the tunnels. After a few rough jumps onto tracks and climbs over ledges, he was able to find an old set of wooden stairs and make his way to a door with a rusted knob. Taking a deep breath, he slowly opened it and peeked outside, finding himself to be looking at an alleyway. The fresh air felt good to his lungs. Nadir walked out further and looked behind one of the brick walls, seeing an older section of London with decrepit buildings and burnt-out streetlights. No one noticed him, and he certainly wasn't the shadiest figure walking around that evening.

Sticking to the alleys as much as possible, he kept himself hidden and made his way forward, being careful not to step on the broken glass that littered the ground. After about a half hour of walking, he discovered a health facility where he could take Carlotta, hopefully without being seen. He also decided to get to the banquet by taxi, as passengers on a bus or subway might recall his face from the news. He could only hope that the driver didn't notice and was thankful that Erik had garnered enough money to pay a generous fare.

Satisfied with his decisions, Mr. Khan managed to return belowground and to the abandoned platform without getting lost. He immediately checked on Erik and saw with alarm that his friend had begun to stir and twitch. Taking another one of the needles, he gently injected another dose of the sedative into Erik's vein, wincing as a small drop of blood leaked from the point of insertion. It pained him, but Nadir saw no other options.

The hours ticked by slowly as he waited for the evening of the following day. He planned to leave an hour before the banquet so that he would be able to watch the guests arrive and judge what he was up against. When the time finally came, Nadir took yet another syringe and brought it into the room that held Carlotta. The woman looked up at him with wide, miserable eyes, and he saw how disturbingly thin and pale she'd become. Another week down there, and she might have died. "Please," she weakly whispered as she looked at the needle. "Please don't."

"I am going to get you out of here," he gently replied. "I promise."

"You're going to kill me."

No," he murmured. "You'll wake up someplace safe. But I must not let you see where you are." She released a soft moan of despair as he put her to sleep. After untying her wrists, he picked her up from behind and carried her out of the closet, unsurprised by how light she was. After hesitating, he set her down on the ground and lifted Erik up from beneath the arms. He half-carried his comrade into the same closet, hoping the location would keep him somewhat hidden if intruders did come down.

_What if Erik awoke before he returned?_

It was unlikely that the sedative would wear off, but his friend did have superhuman capabilities. Nadir knew one thing that would lessen Erik's chances of going aboveground and wreaking havoc. With a deep intake of breath, he slowly reached behind and untied the strings of Erik's mask. Keeping his gaze away from the distorted features, Nadir lifted the mask from Erik's face and carried it out with him. By taking the piece of black porcelain, he had all but bound Erik to the tunnels. His friend would surely murder him for the act.

After hiding the mask behind a wall that was a fair distance from the area, Nadir covered Carlotta with a blanket and picked her up again. She seemed to become heavier as he walked through the tunnels, but he gathered his energy and continued forward. Nearly out of breath as he reached the top of the stairs, he gently set her beside the door. After tucking the blanket around her torso for warmth, Mr. Khan exited.

Sharply inhaling the frigid air, he kept his head bent low and quickly walked toward the streets, attempting to avoid the scattered patches of light. He searched for a taxicab, his warm breath forming small clouds in front of him. Finally, he spotted one of the familiar black vehicles and quickly approached it. The taxi came to a fast halt, and Nadir jumped inside the backseat before the driver had a chance to look at him, keeping his face turned to the side. Showing the older man a handful of money, Nadir instructed the driver to drop him off on a corner that was a block from the banquet. He didn't want his destination to arouse suspicions. The driver nodded, seeming disinterested. Mr. Khan silently sat there and prayed that he would run into no surprise misfortunes.

Twenty minutes passed of abandoned buildings, closed shops, and lit-up pubs. Soon, neon signs pointed to open restaurants and clubs, and groups of warmly-dressed people passed on both sides of the street. Nadir was thankful for all the activity, as it would make him less noticeable.

"We're here," gruffly stated the driver. The vehicle stopped next to a closed hair salon.

Nadir sharply glanced up. "Thank you," he muttered, handing him several pounds over the required fare. "Please keep the difference." Without a word, he opened the door and rushed out of the vehicle. Before going forward, he ensured that the taxi had driven away.

It wasn't difficult to see where the banquet was held once he had turned a corner. Cars and limousines were parked right outside the glowing front entrance. The building was part of a collection of older stone structures that had recently been renovated. It was in the shape of a circle, trimmed with gold along the edges and converging into a point at the top. A golden sphere had been placed at the apex. The bare trees in the front marked what was likely an attractive landscape during the warmer seasons.

Seeing all the vehicles, Nadir realized with disdain that it had taken him a longer time to arrive than anticipated. Or perhaps the guests had come early. Christine Daae was likely safely inside that building, surrounded by guards and that boy of hers.

Although there were no visible authorities, he guessed that they were either disguised as civilians or hidden inside. Moving to the other side slightly, he saw that several men were positioned toward the back, yawning and talking to one another with bored expressions. It was very subtly surrounded and guarded, solely meant to lure Erik to his death.

Nadir sighed.

He wasn't Erik. He couldn't silently creep through shadows and squeeze through obscure entrances. His clothes were too tattered for him to pretend to be a guest. He could only wait until the affair was over and attempt to get to her when she came out. Then again, she likely had bodyguards. They all had damned bodyguards.

He paced for a moment, before stepping back and studying the building from all sides. The only windows that the structure had were small and placed high, and there were no hidden entrances. As the futility of the situation finally sank in, Nadir's shoulders slumped in defeat. He began to turn around to leave, knowing that he could at least succeed in saving Carlotta's life.

Suddenly, he heard the faint patter of quickly moving footsteps. Nadir glanced up to see someone running from a side entrance of the building. He turned back around and curiously watched the figure, taking a few steps forward to get a better view.

The person's head was covered with the fur-rimmed hood of a long winter coat. Seeing the bottom of a white dress flutter beneath the covering, Nadir could tell that it was a female. A leather purse was also slung over her shoulder. The girl stumbled once, before dodging to the side of an adjoining structure and casting a quick glance backwards. Once out of view, she bent down and pulled off her high-heeled shoes. He caught a flash of nervous blue eyes and a wisp of blonde hair. It couldn't be…

Another person soon walked out of the building, a uniformed man that Nadir took to be a bodyguard. The man glanced around curiously, as if knowing that someone had come outside. Hearing heavy footsteps, the woman froze and pressed her back against the wall. "Hello?" the man asked. "You out here, Ms. Daae?" She continued to silently stand there.

What Nadir would have done to possess Erik's ventriloquist skills at that moment. Instead, he used an idea from a novel that he had long ago read and picked up a large chunk of broken concrete from the ground. Drawing his arm back, he hurled it as hard as he was able in the opposite direction of Ms. Daae. To his great fortune, the concrete hit a metal trash receptacle, creating a loud and echoing crash. The bodyguard sharply glanced up and ran toward the sound. Christine began to race forward again, heading toward a cab that was situated at the side of the street.

As soon as she passed by Nadir, he grabbed her arm and pulled her backward, before wrapping a hand over her mouth. He hadn't meant to be so forceful, but his time had been limited. She struggled and twisted against him, attempting to scream and break his hold. He winced as she elbowed him in the chest. "Please do not scream," he whispered into her ear. If she did, there was nothing he could do. "I'm begging you. I will not hurt you." At the sound of his voice, she suddenly stopped fighting. Her body went limp as her eyes widened in recognition. "I only want to talk to you. Do you understand?"

She rapidly nodded, and he wearily released her, all the while preparing for the worst.


	45. Understandings

Thank you for all your kind comments on the last chapter. And a welcome to those who have just caught up on this story. The next chapter might not be up for about two weeks, as I have some projects due. Hopefully, this chapter will hold you over until then :)

Thanks to _Ripper de la Blackstaff_ for help with translations!

**Read and Review!!!**

When they first arrived at the banquet hall in a black limousine, Christine was wearing a brown woolen coat that she had bought on sale several years ago. The material was also bulky enough to where she had been able to stuff an extra shirt into one of the sleeves. Among the items concealed within her purse were travel documents, money, a hairbrush, toiletries, several pieces of prized jewelry, four granola bars, and her new cellular phone.

"That looks heavy," Raoul had commented when they first entered the vehicle, looking down at the bulged sides.

She forced a laugh, hoping her nervous expression wasn't completely visible in the dim lighting. "You know girls and their purses." No one else said anything, and she had attempted to relax during the ride there. Oliver, Emily, and several bodyguards accompanied them in the limousine. Raoul had enquired on Leonie's whereabouts.

"She's not coming," Oliver had stated, leading Emily, who wore a fur-trimmed coat, to sit beside him in the car. "She had other matters to attend to. And it may be best that one of us stays behind in case there are any problems." Raoul nodded, a small frown of worry etched into his face.

Christine had attempted to make a plan throughout the drive through the suburbs and city, although it was difficult without knowing the design of the building. She would have to find a way to get away from Raoul and Oliver, escape the bodyguards, and finally find a hidden exit. Her gaze drifted to Raoul, and she knew that her friend was going to be hurt by all this. It seemed impossible not to hurt someone these days, with everyone's allegiances and motivations scattered in fifty different directions.

It was dark and cold when they arrived at the circular banquet hall, although the building itself was bright enough to light the entire block. After the bodyguards had emerged, her door unlocked, and she climbed out into the frigid night air. She was somewhat relieved to see that the structure was located close to the street and that taxis occasionally drifted by in search of customers. Although she'd considered calling for one ahead of time, she hadn't wanted to give anyone too much information about herself. And she didn't even know what time she was going to make it out of there, if ever…

Raoul stayed close to her side as they entered, his gaze darting right and left in search of suspicious shadows. She blinked in the brightness and looked at all the well-dressed people in shimmering gowns and tuxedos. Most of them were conversing in small groups, and the laughter from all corners of the room made the event seem more like a party than a deceased woman's memorial dinner. A podium and microphone were set up on a wooden platform at the front, and a piano was positioned toward the side. Tables with midnight blue cloths and wine glasses were set up toward the center, and the floor was made from a cream-colored marble. She nearly stepped backward as a crowd of people approached Oliver, all of them offering their deepest sympathies. He firmly shook their hands and nodded. "Yes. We miss her terribly."

Looking to the side, Christine saw that a large photo of Carlotta Glouer had been placed in a gold frame and set up on a three-legged stand. A heaviness settled over her heart, and she prayed that the woman had been spared. What if Erik _had_ killed her? She sighed and allowed Raoul to lead her toward a table at the front. Her notions of good and evil were being shredded into tiny and unrecognizable grey-colored fragments. It was impossible to choose a side without being privy to some terrible act. And so she was only left to follow her heart that night.

Her gaze wandered around the globular building. There were no crevices or nooks to hide behind, and the ceiling was devoid of rafters. If Erik entered, he would be immediately noticed; no place existed for him to hide. As Christine looked at the other people, she saw quite a few men that were standing away from the crowds and carefully watching their surroundings, their expressions grim. She guessed that they were guards, all of them ready and eager to fire their weapons at a masked target. She shuddered and took a deep breath. Several entrances were positioned throughout the room, some less noticeable than others, including one toward the back and near the restrooms.

She sat in her chair for several minutes, gathering herself together. Taking her purse into her hands and keeping her coat on, Christine suddenly stood up from the table. "I have to run to the restroom," she curtly stated.

"Are you okay?" asked Raoul, glancing up in surprise.

"Yes. Just fine. I'll be right back." One of the bodyguards, a younger man with cropped brown hair and stubble on his chin, began to follow her. "Oh. I'll be fine," she told him, knowing it probably wouldn't work. "I'll just be a minute." The man hesitated.

"Just let him take you to the door," gently pled Raoul. "It's best to be cautious here, especially with the crowds."

Christine nodded and shrugged, not wanting to arouse suspicions by making a scene. Just as she began to turn around to leave, Emily walked over from where Oliver was conversing with a group of people. "I think I'll come with you, Ms. Daae. That was a long ride, wasn't it?" Christine cringed. Sneaking away from the bodyguard was going to be difficult enough.

Still, she nodded and smiled. "All right." She cast one last sympathetic glance toward Raoul before moving forward.

"This is so nice," chattered Emily. "I rarely get to dress up for anything. Not with two kids. Of course, it's sad about Ms. Glouer. I can't believe the crazy man killed that woman. But still, the banquet's nice, isn't it."

"Yeah," Christine murmured as she entered the restroom, her heels clicking against the marble. As she suspected, there were no doors or windows inside. Emily hung up her long, dark-blue coat on a peg and examined her face in the spotless mirror. Christine stared at the large hood on the article of clothing. Feeling her heart pound, she watched as Emily headed into one of the stalls. "Do you mind if I try on your coat?" she asked, hiding the tremble in her voice. "I think it would look nice with my dress."

Emily glanced up. "No. Go ahead. Mr. Oliver bought it for me. Isn't it cute?"

Christine hid her frown and smiled widely. "Yes. It's beautiful. You can try on mine if you want." As Emily entered the stall and shut the door, Christine frantically pulled off her coat, making sure to grab the extra shirt from inside. She quickly plucked Emily's jacket from the hook and shoved her arms into the puffy sleeves. After pulling up the hood, she took a deep breath and emerged from the bathroom. The bodyguard curiously glanced up, and Christine kept her head down. "I need a breath of fresh air," she stated in a horrible British accent.

"Is Ms. Daae still in there?" he nervously asked.

"Yes. She'll be out soon." Christine knew that _her_ wellbeing was of more concern than Emily's, and so she ignored the guard's soft protest and quickly headed for the exit. The guard didn't follow her, and she didn't take the time to turn around and see what was happening. She had probably bought herself ten extra seconds at the most; Emily would be out soon.

Keeping the hood around her head, she pushed the glass door aside and raced outside into the cold night air, her heart throbbing. She stumbled once over the heels of her shoes. They had been the only dressy shoes available to her, and now the painful things were making it impossible to run. She dodged behind a corner and pulled them off her feet, hoping that she didn't end up getting a piece of glass embedded into her skin.

Suddenly, a nearby door squeaked and someone came outside. "Hello? You out here, Ms. Daae?" She pressed her back against the wall and squeezed her eyes shut, a silent prayer running through her mind. The cold wind seeped beneath her dress, numbing her legs. The guard began to walk closer, and she held her breath.

From out of nowhere, a loud metallic sound rang into the air, and she sharply glanced up at the noise. To her relief, the guard ran toward the commotion, and she bolted forward down the sidewalk, thankful that it was too dark for anyone to see her. Hopefully, the bodyguard would continue his frantic search before going back inside, not wanting to lose his job for losing her. She didn't even have time to feel guilty as she flew forward. Relief ran through her veins as she spotted a taxi and dashed toward the vehicle.

It took her a moment to even realize what happened, and then her heart had constricted in pure terror. A large hand wrapped over her mouth, and an arm yanked her backward and into the shadows. She fought against the tightening grip and tried to scream, feeling tears of panic begin to gather in her eyes. "Please do not scream," whispered a man's voice. "I'm begging you. I will not hurt you." She knew that voice. Christine stopped struggling, attempting to identify it. "I only want to talk to you. Do you understand?" She nodded and took a deep breath as he removed his hand from her mouth. As soon as she was free, Christine whirled around to face him, blinking in shock as she focused on his features. The man wearily looked down upon her, his face more haggard than she remembered it. His clothes were dirty and wrinkled.

"Nadir," she stated, feeling her heartbeat slow. She leaned back against the brick wall in slight shock, her terror replaced with uncertainty and perhaps the slightest bit of hope.

"Shh," he hushed her, nervously glancing around. "Yes. It is me, I'm afraid." He took a deep breath, appearing as nervous as she was. "How are you, Ms. Daae?"

"I'm fine," she choked out, taking another gulp of air.

"Very good," he replied. "I…just need to talk to you for a few moments. And then you may go."

She looked back toward the glowing building, watching as the bodyguard began to head back inside at a quick pace. "They'll be out here soon," she frantically stated. "We need to go somewhere else."

His eyes widened in slight surprise. "You will come with me for a moment?" he hesitantly asked. "I swear that I will not hurt you."

"Yes," she quickly replied, not understanding his hesitance. _Hadn't Erik told him anything? Where was Erik?_ She forced away her panicked thoughts. "We can take the taxi somewhere. Is that okay?"

Mr. Khan appeared bewildered. "You want to…This is not a setup, is it? Please, Ms. Daae. I swear that I…"

"No!" she exclaimed. "It's not. I promise."

Nadir finally nodded in resignation. "All right. Let's go, then."

She started to move forward with him, before stopping and looking down. "I should leave this coat here. It's not mine."

"You will freeze to death," he replied. "Who does it belong to?"

"Oliver's…mistress." Even in the dark, she could see the frown of disgust on Nadir's face at the name.

"He can buy her another one," he finally stated. "Please keep the coat."

She wearily nodded, knowing that it was too cold and windy to make another decision. They both climbed into the vehicle, and Nadir gave the driver the name of a street. Christine settled into the seat and wrung her hands in her lap. _If Nadir was here, where was Erik? _She attempted to stay calm, praying that her worst fears weren't true. Mr. Khan stared at her curiously, but both knew to keep silent in the presence of the driver.

"Right here," said Nadir after about twenty minutes. She said nothing as the car stopped, allowing him to pay the fare. They climbed out onto a dark and desolate street, and Christine anxiously glanced at her surroundings. Although she trusted Nadir to a certain degree, the atmosphere wasn't helping her nerves. She followed him as he quickly strode forward. "We will try to find somewhere to get out of the wind," he murmured, looking into buildings. "Perhaps here."

He pushed his shoulder against a wooden door without a knob, revealing a utility shed. Christine walked inside and brushed her hair out of her face, beginning to ache with exhaustion. Feeling warmth emanate from one of the humming metal machines, she walked to stand beside it. After closing the door, Mr. Khan did the same. "Well," he softly began. "That was an adventure." She nodded and started to ask her most pressing question. Mr. Khan spoke again, though. "You were attempting to get away tonight?" he asked. "From Oliver?"

"Yes," she replied, still slightly out of breath. "There were so many bodyguards. I didn't know if I was going to be able to." She looked up at him and spoke before he could ask another question. "Do you know where Erik is? Is he okay?"

Nadir tilted his head and studied her. "Why?" he softly enquired.

She frowned. "What? I need to know! Please. Is he okay?" Her eyes were beginning to fill with tears as she attempted to read Mr. Khan's expression.

"Yes," Nadir finally whispered. "I suppose he will be fine."

"Thank God," she murmured, leaning back against the concrete wall. "I heard that he was injured. I thought…" She shook her head and released a shaky sigh of relief

"The wound healed," he replied. "Erik took very good care of himself." The tone of Nadir's voice was strange and uncertain. "Ms. Daae? I…Have you…did you have an encounter with Erik recently?"

"Not since November. I just arrived here a few days ago."

"November?" he asked, a rasp in his voice. "That soon? What occurred?"

She frowned again and looked up at him. "Didn't Erik say anything?"

"Yes. But I wish to hear your side."

"Oh. All right." Wanting to know more about Erik's present condition, Christine summarized their time together as quickly as she could. She talked of Erik helping with her performances, the hotel room, her visit home, and their time together at the end. She avoided more unpleasant topics like the unmasking and Erik's reaction to Oliver's letter. When she was finished, Nadir rubbed his forehead and muttered a phrase that she couldn't understand, a glint of disbelief in his dark eyes. "What's wrong?" she asked. "Didn't Erik ever…say anything about me? Or about what happened?"

Nadir sadly chuckled. "He often talked of nothing but you, Ms. Daae. He attempted to tell me. But I…I thought he was mad. I thought he had lost his mind."

"Why didn't you believe him?"

Nadir hesitated, staring at the ground with a grimace of guilt. "With all due respect, I still do not understand why you didn't call the police from the moment that you saw him. But for you to do all of that…the hotel room…and I…It is simply beyond belief." He looked at her with utter bewilderment. She stared down at her numbed hands. "May I ask why?"

"Why?"

"Why would you do that…for _him_? For either of us? After all we put you through?"

Christine was silent for a moment. "I don't know," she finally murmured, hugging her arms against her chest. "There was a point where I thought he was dead. And it was just…" She wiped a tear away from her left cheek. "It was so horrible to think that. And then when I saw him alive, I felt so relieved. I can't even explain it, Nadir. I just can't stand the thought of him dead, or hurt, or of never seeing him again. I care about him. I…" She tapered off, staring at the pavement through blurry eyes.

Nadir shook his head. "I thought he had lost his mind. And then when I saw you in the paper with de Chagny and Oliver, it confirmed my beliefs."

She put a hand over her mouth in horror. "Did Erik think that I had…"

"I think he feared it," Nadir gently replied. "But he attempted to convince himself that you were lured into their hands. He convinced himself that you would not betray him. It was the only way that he could stay somewhat sane."

She sighed. "I just didn't know how else to get over here. And then I heard that Erik might be injured. It probably wasn't right to go with them. But I…I didn't know what else to do. I'm sorry. I didn't want to hurt him."

Nadir placed a hand on her shoulder. "Do not be sorry, Ms. Daae. I am the one who has erred. I fear I am still in shock."

"Nadir?" she suddenly asked, tired of avoiding the topic. "Where is Erik right now?"

Mr. Khan paused and leaned back against the wall. "Erik and I have been using the abandoned subway tunnels to hide. They are not exactly pleasant. I would not ask you to come down there with me, except for the fact that…" He hesitated, and an expression of self-loathing graced his face.

"Except for what?"

"You may be the only thing that will stop Erik from…injuring me. You see, I believed him insane. I thought he would go to that banquet only to find out that his time with you was a delusion. And then he would either needlessly die there or hurt others. It was my only option at the time."

"What did you do?" she frantically asked, turning to face him completely.

"I gave him several doses of a sedative. He is unconscious. At least I hope he still is." Nadir shuddered.

Her eyes widened. "He can't even defend himself, then," she murmured.

"No one will find him," he assured her. "I did not know what else to do. I am sorry."

Christine slowly nodded. "Maybe you were protecting him. There were so many guards there tonight. I'm glad he didn't try to get to me. That's what they wanted him to do."

"I am glad my efforts weren't lost, then," he replied with a sad smile. "Anyhow, Erik is going to be in a foul mood when he awakens. You may be able to stop him from …avenging himself. If you understand…" He paused. "I will not force you down there, though. I think you have been coerced enough, Ms. Daae."

"Of course I'll come down," she softly replied. "I want to see him. That's why I'm here." She took a step toward the door. "Let's go before he wakes up. If he tries to go to the banquet…" She felt nauseous at the thought.

Nadir followed her, shaking his head in disbelief. "Ms. Daae. I would honestly like to hug you right now. But I best not give Erik another reason to kill me, eh?" He laughed, joy intermingled with blessed relief. She softly laughed as well, feeling something resembling hope for the first time in awhile.

"So Frederick Oliver was in that building?" Nadir asked as they left the shed and walked through alleys. Christine had put on her shoes again, figuring that stumbling was better than ending up with a nail in her foot.

"Yes," she replied. "It was supposed to be for his niece." She looked up. "How did you even know I was there?"

"The event was announced in the newspapers. Likely used as a trap for Erik." Nadir sighed. "Oliver has caused us more problems than I could ever begin to count," he murmured.

"Nadir? Will you please tell me what happened? Someone tried to kill Erik when he was little. Is that what's wrong?" He looked at her in surprise. "I found a letter…"

Nadir shook his head "That is a fraction of the story, I suppose. But there is much more. I promise that I will tell you at a later time. The story would take too long, and we are almost there."

She nodded in resignation, too tired to prod anymore. All she could focus her energy on was getting to Erik.

He finally stopped by a door that was nearly hidden within the wall of an alleyway. "Here we are, Ms. Daae." His tone was lighter than it had been earlier that evening. "It is a bit of a difficult journey down. A few jumps, I'm afraid. And be careful where you step." She nodded, and he opened the creaking door. At first, she saw only a dimly lit staircase, but her eyes suddenly fell to a bulky object on the floor that was covered with a blanket.

"Oh!" She softly gasped.

Nadir put a hand to his forehead. "I nearly forgot. Carlotta."

Christine's eyes widened. The figure was still. "Is she…?"

"No," quickly replied Nadir, kneeling down and momentarily pulling the blanket back. "She is alive. But Erik planned to use her to get to you. And the whole situation was about to become a mess. I wanted to take her somewhere safe."

Christine nodded and crouched down beside him. The red-headed woman looked a thousand times different than she did on television, sprawled there with grime on her pale face. "My God," she murmured. "Do you need any help?"

Nadir hesitated. "I think it is best that we go down first and ensure that Erik hasn't awoken."

Christine rapidly nodded in agreement. A new supply of adrenaline coursed through her veins as they began the climb through the tunnels. Nadir helped her over some of the ledges and pulled her up onto the various platforms, and she became used to the sound of the white dress ripping. The tracks made her nervous, for she always expected a subway to come barreling through the abandoned tunnels. She released a soft cry of pain as her knee scraped up against the wall during a climb.

"Are you hurt?" Nadir turned to face her.

"No. I'll be okay." A few drops of blood fell from the tiny injury. She could feel the stale air in her lungs and wondered how either of them had managed to stay down there so long. Dust covered nearly everything. Finally, Nadir stopped walking, his shoulders heaving from the exertion. Christine stared around at a large, flat space. Several blankets and other indiscernible items were piled on the floor.

"We're finally here," he stated. Noticing her wandering gaze, he added, "Erik is behind the door over there. For his protection."

She slowly nodded, feeling her heart begin to pound in anticipation. _Please still be in there…_

Taking a breath, Nadir slowly opened the door and glanced downwards. She saw his tensed shoulders fall in relief. "He is here." She started to quickly walk forward. "Please wait, Christine," Nadir softly commanded, using her first name for the first time that night. "You see, it was necessary for me to take the mask to keep him underground. I didn't think…Well, it does not matter. Let me get his mask."

She stared after him with a stunned expression, finding it unbelievable that Nadir would take such a risk. No wonder he was afraid for his life. Had they not encountered each other that night, all would have been lost. Whether it was luck or divine intervention was anyone's guess.

She was thankful that Erik was asleep. _Asleep…Maybe she would be able to…_Despite Nadir's warning, Christine slowly walked forward and looked into the room. A quiet gasp escaped her throat, even before she looked at his face. It was surreal to see him lying upon the dusty concrete with his limbs limp and motionless. His pale fingers were slightly curled, and the dark suit sagged over his emaciated frame and onto the ground. Her heart nearly stopped. He looked…dead.

But he wasn't! As her eyes drifted upwards, she could see the slow rise and fall of his chest. Her Erik was alive. She walked further into the room and leaned against the wall, preparing herself for the coming sight. Maybe looking would be easier without Erik screaming at her. She quickly glanced at his face, before looking away with a sharp inhalation of breath. And then she looked again.

Feeling nauseous, she took a seat upon the frigid ground and gathered her knees up to her chest. Placing her chin on her knees, she forced herself to stare for five seconds without turning away. And then she had to close her eyes for a moment as her stomach churned and perspiration gathered on her forehead. Keeping her gaze to the side, she scooted forward and took one of the bony hands into her own.

"Christine?" Nadir called from outside.

"In here," she weakly answered.

He quickly walked in and looked down at her. "Oh…Christine," he gasped. "You should have waited for me to... I did not want this. You should not have to see…"

"I wanted to," she whispered, looking up at the aging man. "I wanted to see while he was asleep so that I…" She swallowed and glanced at Erik's face again. "So that I couldn't hurt him. And I can get used to it."

Nadir softly sighed. "I do not know if anyone could become used to it. It is…I don't know if there's even a word for it. Not a kind one, at least. I am not even used to it." He bent down and gently lifted Erik's head to tie the mask back on.

"Nadir?" Her voice was shaky.

"Yes?"

"The right side."

"What of it?" he gently asked.

"Is there no bone beneath the skin at all? Can he even use that side of his face? Or is it just…"

Nadir nodded, seeming to understand that she was simply trying to make sense of it, to put the face in logical terms. "The side is functional. He can use his jaw, and there is something supporting the eye. I think what it is…is that there's a severe overabundance of skin on that side. So much so that it has no structure."

"Oh," she whispered. "That's better for him, then."

"I suppose so," he murmured, looking down. He correctly positioned the mask and stepped back.

She ran her thumb over the dry flesh of Erik's fingers. "He's always so cold."

Nadir nodded, staring at their hands for a moment. "He's had a low body temperature since he was a child. But he's never been sensitive to the cold."

Suddenly, Erik's leg twitched, and they both glanced down. A few murmured sentences came from behind the mask, but she wasn't able to understand the words.

"Je te tuerais, Nadir. Je t'arracherais le coeur. Il n'y aura plus rien de toi, espèce de traitre." (_I will kill you, Nadir. I will rip your heart from your body. There will be nothing left of you, you traitor.)_

"What did he say?" Christine softly asked.

Nadir hesitated, and she thought that she saw him shudder. "He said that he is…not very happy with me."

"Oh." She knew that Mr. Khan had spared her certain details.

"Christine," Erik murmured. "Elle est toujours là-bas. Et elle est à moi…" _(She is still out there. And she is mine…)_

Christine looked at Nadir expectantly. He cleared his throat. "He just says that you are still out there. And that he is…very fond of you." She smiled slightly. Nadir walked closer, rubbing his chin. "Christine. It may be best that you leave for a moment. He is waking up, and I wish to speak with him first. I am not sure what his reaction will be."

"All right," she whispered. She squeezed his cold fingers and started to withdraw her hand. Suddenly, he tightly grasped onto her. Her heart jumped, and she slowly looked up to see two frantic yellow eyes.


	46. Embrace

Well, not quite two weeks, I guess. Considering the chapter alert function was down, I think some of you had to wait less than a week. Lol. Anyway, thank you for all your wonderful comments. I'm glad you enjoyed the last chapter. And thanks to _Mominator _for pointing out an important consideration.

**Read and Review!!!**

The first sensation that he felt was a warm pressure against his fingers and palm. Hearing the distant sound of voices, he desperately attempted to bring himself from the depths of unconsciousness. There was a reason why he rarely slept; he didn't want to go back _there_. Or wake up back _there_. Sleep always led to _there_. He could still feel the cold metal shackles digging into his ankles, yanking him into the nightmare. He tried to grasp onto reality, the warm sensation on his hand reeling him back to the surface.

He heard a man's voice and grimaced as the memory returned. The Iranian traitor had forced him into this pathetic state; Nadir Khan would die an agonizing death for this act. And precious time had passed! The banquet…he needed to get there now. She was waiting for him. His Christine would not betray him. Nadir would pay dearly for this; each vital organ would be ripped from the wretch's body and strewn across the tunnels. _What time was it?_ He needed to get to the banquet and find her.

Another voice spoke, also familiar. Too familiar. The warm pressure that lingered on his hand began to slowly pull away, and he reflexively grabbed onto it. Hearing Nadir's voice again, he prepared his muscles to jump up and grab his comrade by the throat. He opened his eyes for a moment. Seeing that he was still in some taunting dream, he closed his lids again, his thoughts becoming confused.

"He's clamped onto my hand," said the perfect voice.

And then the vile traitor spoke. "Perhaps you should stay. If he sees you first, it might make things a bit easier on me." A wry laugh followed.

"Maybe I should." His hand was caressed. "Is he awake? He was looking at me."

He hesitantly opened his eyes again. The dream was still there, staring down at him with her head tilted to the side. An uncertain smile graced her lips. "Hi, Erik," she said, her voice just above a whisper. He looked downward to see that he was clutching to her hand. He waited for the vision to fade and the warm touch to dissipate.

"Real?" he choked out in stunned realization. His mouth was nearly as dry as the rest of his death's skin. He attempted to sit up, stiffly propping himself up onto his elbows. The drug had a numbing effect on his limbs, and his vision was still blurred and dotted with little waves and lines. Her face shifted in and out of focus.

"Erik." The vile traitor was suddenly standing right in from of him. "Give yourself a moment to recover."

"You," he venomously rasped, his hands clenching.

"Erik," his comrade pled. "Please give yourself a moment." Nadir paused, his head tilting downward in shame. "I ask you to accept my apology. You were right. About everything. I am sorry for not believing you."

"No. You will be sorry very soon," he growled, attempting to sit up without letting go of the warmth. "I will tear…"

"Erik." The softer voice spoke again, and he turned to look. His mind was flipping between rage and euphoria. Slowly, everything began to come into focus.

He stared at the apparition, speaking to it for the first time. If it spoke back, then it was surely real. Then…she was real. "You are here…"

"Yes," she replied, the pressure on his hand increasing. "_Nadir_ brought me here. He found me."

A faint cry escaped his twisted lips. _Real! _He couldn't breathe for a moment. Amidst the numbing elation was the realization that he must look like a grotesque freak, lying uselessly on the ground in front of her. He struggled to get up, never taking his eyes off her face.

Her eyes widened. "Be careful," she softly pled.

"Allow the drug to wear off," Nadir begged.

He cast a steely glare toward his comrade. Some distant part of his mind told him that Christine would not be happy if he tore the traitor's organs out in front of her. The rage faded in and out. "Get out of my sight before I rip you apart, Nadir!" he hissed, attempting to get control of the situation. His mind was spinning.

Nadir took several steps toward the exit. Christine uncertainly started to draw back from him. "No!" he exclaimed, finally pulling himself up to a sitting position. "No. You stay. You will stay here with me."

She sat back down and squeezed his hand. "All right, Erik. I'll stay." Nadir hesitated in the doorway, and _he_ was nearly ready to bring out the lasso. Christine turned toward Nadir. "I'll be okay by myself." The traitor nodded once and stepped out. The vile busybody was likely lingering by the doorway to listen. Still, _his_ concentration was now focused upon her. They were eye level, and she was leaning forward slightly, unnervingly close to his face. He pressed a finger to his cheek to ensure that the mask was in place, finding it a bit looser than it should have been.

"You are here," he stated, a rasp in his voice as he quickly tightened the strings of the black porcelain. "How? You were with…" His fingers curled as the memory returned. Had she not been sitting there, his sanity would have disintegrated. He steadied his breath, not wanting to frighten her away. "Oliver. He…"

"Oh, Erik," she began with a sigh, slowly looking up at him. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean for all that to happen. I didn't know it would end up like that. I didn't mean to upset you."

"But why were you with them?" he pressed. "Why? Why would you? They will…ruin you." _They will make you despise me…_

"Leonie and Raoul wanted me to go to London. They said it was to keep me safe, and I… I don't know everything, Erik. I guess they knew that you would try to find me."

"And you agreed to go?" he angrily questioned.

"I just wanted to get here so badly. It was the only way I knew how to. I'm sorry. I didn't know what else to do."

"Why did you wish to come here?" He gestured to their dismal surroundings, feeling like an insect in a hole. He had planned to groom himself before he retrieved her, at least go from utterly repulsive to just plain hideous. At the present moment, he would have likely vomited at the sight of his own reflection.

"I heard you were injured." She looked up at him, but he couldn't read her expression.

"It was trivial, really," he muttered, turning away from her.

"I watched the news everyday," she continued. "When you were rescuing Nadir, I was so scared. I just wanted to be here."

He was sane enough to believe her. Even if he couldn't understand her reasoning, he trusted her. There was no lie within her blue eyes, and the dreadful ring was still absent from her finger. "You are here now." Calmness settled over him with the realization that she had not betrayed him. He had not lost everything in that night. In those seconds before the wretched traitor had stabbed him with the needle, he had briefly wondered if it was all over, if he would die alone and despised.

Clarity returned slowly, and a painful weight lifted from his chest, allowing him to breathe more easily. He stared at her, simultaneously wanting to crawl into a hole in his hideousness and cling to her in relief. Feeling trapped, he quickly released her hand and rose to his feet. A short wave of dizziness passed. "We will not stay here forever," he began. "We will find somewhere warmer. This is not suitable for you, and-"

"Erik," she interrupted, standing up in front of him. The corners of her eyes held tears. "I missed you!" She reached out and wrapped her arms around his stick-like torso, pressing her cheek against his chest and closing her eyes. A choke escaped his dry throat. Even as he violently shuddered under her embrace, she didn't release him.

He stared down at the top of her head, noticing a few particles of dried brown leaves near her scalp. He reflexively brushed them away with shaking hands. The blonde strands appeared soft, and he ran the tips of his bony fingers over the tangled tresses. She still didn't flinch. His hands trailed down over her hair and the fur-rimmed hood of her coat to land on her back. Stretching his arms forward, he wound them around her shoulders in a moderately tight hold. He forced himself not to think about how utterly disgusted she must be the protruding cogs of his spine and ribcage. He forced himself not to think of her reaction if she knew of the horror that was his entire body. His mind would tell him things that he didn't want to know. He just felt her for those few blissful seconds.

He felt a twinge as she released him and took a step back, although her warmth lingered behind for a moment. His arms fell back to his sides. She swallowed and looked away. _Was she sickened?_ He panicked. It wasn't _his_ fault that she had chosen to touch him! As with the mask, _she_ had done it! It was not his fault that he could not have the same physique as that damned de-

"Erik?" She met his gaze now. "Were you really going to come back? I mean…when you were done here?"

"Yes, Christine," he whispered, not knowing what she wanted to hear. She smiled, her tired eyes brightening for the first time that night. His Christine was so very lovely. "You will stay here now," he shakily stated, taking her hand and leading them from the closet. "You will not go back with them." He couldn't make it a request. He could never let her near Oliver or de Chagny again. If they so much as looked at her, he would rip their eyes out of their sockets.

"Yes," she replied. "Of course I'll stay. I came to see you." He felt his chest swell with a pleasant suffocating sensation. As they exited the room together, his gaze traveled around the dim area in search of movement. Where had the traitor disappeared to? "Erik," she began, looking up at him. "Nadir was the one that found me tonight. He brought me here. If it wasn't for him…"

"I would have found you," he sharply retorted.

"But there were so many guards."

"I still would have gotten to you! He betrayed me! That idiot nearly took everything from me. And…" His jaw clenched. "Glouer," he hissed. "She is gone." His muscles tensed. He quickly withdrew his hand from hers to avoid breaking her finger bones in his growing anger.

"Erik," she repeated, gently touching his shoulder. He looked down at her. "Carlotta was very sick. She needed to be at a hospital."

"That woman was my single way to get to Oliver!" he yelled, his tenor voice echoing into the tunnels with unintended force. "She was my best asset against him! And now it is ruined! _Ruined!_"

His angel drew back with wide eyes, her face paling. A feeling of wretchedness descended upon him. Would he always be so very adept at destroying things? "Oh, do not fear me, Christine." He reached a hand out toward her. "Please…Not now…I will not hurt you. Never. Do not be afraid."

She hesitated, before coming closer again. He was already starved for another embrace, but she just cautiously took his offered hand. "Carlotta was going to die if she stayed here," she said, her eyes pleading with him. "Nadir had to take her somewhere safe."

He did not care if Carlotta died. If it had taken that woman's death to get to Christine, he had been quite prepared to go through with the act. But his Christine did not like death, nor would he ever want her to take pleasure from it. She expectantly stared up at him. "Glouer is gone now," he evenly stated, determined to save his anger for the traitor. "And I will not put worthless effort into retrieving her. It really does not matter." Christine nodded, and the tense frown vanished from her face. A brief silence passed between them. "We will go somewhere warmer soon," he finally continued, gathering the soft blankets from the ground and piling them together. "But you may use these tonight. All of them." He glanced at her, noticing the shredded hem of her dress. "You have damaged your expensive clothing, I fear."

"Oh." She looked down and softly laughed. "They weren't mine. It doesn't matter."

"I will find you more. You will have what you need." He paused and stared at her. "They are not yours?"

"The dress was just given to me for the banquet," she replied. "And the coat…I took it to help me escape."

"What else did you bring with you?" he enquired.

"Just my purse. What's wrong?"

He studied her, grateful to see no deceit in her eyes. "It is possible that they placed a tracking device upon you."

Her mouth fell open. "Oh! Where?" she gasped, frantically looking down at herself.

"It is only a possibility," he replied, keeping his voice calm. If any intruders entered the tunnels, he would be well aware of them. "Christine. How much did they know of all that occurred between us?"

"I don't know. They knew that you would come searching for me."

"But did they know that you…" He could not ask the question; it would imply too much.

She seemed to understand. "They didn't seem to know about last November," she replied with a small smile. "They didn't know that I would try to escape and find you."

He slowly nodded, not daring to assume. "I will fetch you more apparel, and we will dispose of what you have now. If necessary, there are always escapes. I have seen to that." She nodded and quietly stood beside him for several minutes, lightly tilting her head against his shoulder. Although the cold and dust made the location uninhabitable for his beloved, he could not help but enjoy the thought that they were the only two souls down there. Had it been warmer, and with music and aboveground comforts, he might have considered staying there forever.

With her, of course.

"Erik? When Nadir comes back, you won't…?"

"He is still slightly more useful to me alive."

* * *

When the bodyguard had returned to the table with an ashen face and a grim frown, Raoul had known that something was very wrong. "Where's Christine?" he immediately asked, jumping up from his seat. 

Emily suddenly ran up behind the guard, her brown eyes wide. "She took my coat!" she exclaimed, frantically looking around the room.

The bodyguard swallowed. "Ms. Daae ran away. I thought it was Emily going outside. I don't know what went wrong, Sir. I swear. It all happened so quickly. "

Panic began to well up in Raoul's chest. He searched the room for any sign of her, the noises and colors around him beginning to swirl together. It took him a moment to process a coherent thought. "Get Oliver," he stated, clutching onto the edge of the table. The bodyguard nodded and ran away to find his boss.

Within ten minutes, police were everywhere. The guests were quickly ushered out of the building and told to keep an eye out for a young blonde woman. Emily and the bodyguard were led away for extensive questioning.

Raoul ran a hand through his hair, feeling helpless as the minutes ticked by. He had searched every corner of the banquet hall, along with the areas directly outside. Finding nothing, he could only return to the circular building and take more questions from police and reporters. An hour passed. Maybe two hours; he wasn't sure anymore. He hadn't felt this useless and disoriented since his captivity.

As the building became overly warm, he again went outside and inhaled a breath of frigid air. The layer of perspiration on his forehead became colder, and the nausea passed. Frederick Oliver walked over from where he had been speaking with a group of journalists, and Raoul grabbed his arm. It was the first time that the older man wasn't talking to someone that evening. "How did this happen?" Raoul frantically asked. "I thought it was guarded! How could you let this happen?"

Oliver shook his head, appearing tired. "We had guards everywhere. It was impossible for someone to get inside undetected. Completely impossible." He glared. "That girl was trying to get away. That's the only explanation."

"She wouldn't do that!" Raoul exclaimed. "Someone came and took her! That psychopath found a way to get to her!"

"We would have heard her scream," Oliver retorted, pushing Raoul's hand off his shirt. "Someone would have seen something. I'm telling you that this was her doing. Not mine! Her head's messed up or something."

Raoul nearly punched him, only stopping when a high-pitched tone rang into the air and took him out of his angry stupor. Oliver abruptly pulled out a cell phone and flipped it open. "What?" he snapped. "I'm busy." The older man's eyes widened, and his other arm fell limply to his side. "Is she…?" he stuttered in disbelief. "She is? Oh. Thank God. Where? Of course. Give me ten minutes." He closed his phone. "My niece is alive!" he exclaimed. "She was found alive!" Oliver walked away and spoke to several policemen, before quickly heading toward one of the awaiting vehicles. Reporters began to descend on him.

"But Christine is gone!" protested Raoul, unable to fight his way through the crowds.

"I don't have time for that now. I have to get to the hospital!" Oliver called. Emily raced after him, and he took her hand and pulled her forward. Frederick turned to his bodyguards. "Get moving! We're leaving."

The young man stood there at the entryway to the building, staring forward. Policemen rushed around him, and cameras occasionally flashed. No one seemed to notice him. He was powerless and alone.

Feeling nauseous and exhausted, Raoul started to walk away, maybe to find a room for the night. Or to search the city for any sign of Christine. There was nothing else for him to do except wait for the police force to do their job. He doubted that they even knew what they were doing.

A hand suddenly fell upon his shoulder, and he quickly turned around. Leonie was standing behind him, her mouth formed into a line of sympathy. He hadn't seen her arrive. "She's gone," Raoul miserably stated to the only person left to listen. "Oliver doesn't care. You two let him get to her!"

She shook her head and wrapped him into a one-armed hug, rubbing his back with the palm of her hand. "We did all we could, dear," she murmured. "These circumstances were just unforeseen. It was very odd, very unexpected…"

"But how did he get to her?" he asked into her shoulder, finding some comfort in no longer being alone.

Leonie paused. "We had security cameras all over the area, even outside. I watched the tapes. One of them showed her willingly leaving with a man…eagerly leaving with him, really…"

"What are you trying to say?" he asked, raising his head. Her green eyes had a strange glint.

"That Christine's poor mind may be confused. Well, it's really no surprise after all she's been through. You've heard of Stockholm Syndrome, haven't you?"

He rapidly shook his head. "That's impossible!"

Leonie squeezed his shoulder. "We will see, dear. We'll figure it out together." She began to lead him forward by the arm. "It's just important to understand that the situation may be more complicated than previously thought." Leonie glanced around. "Where exactly is dear Frederick?" she asked with a hint of bitterness.

"Carlotta was found," he murmured.

"Alive?" she asked in disbelief. Raoul nodded. "You're kidding! How very strange. But that's good news, of course." She pursed her lips in thought.

He nodded again. "But what about Christine?" he sickly asked. "What next?"

"We'll find her, dear," Leonie assured him, leading him into a vehicle and climbing in beside him. "With or without Freddie. Just…trust me."

* * *

Nadir had been very wary about leaving the girl alone with Erik. He had lingered by the door to the closet for several moments, listening as they spoke. His comrade sounded disoriented but not demented. Even in his angrier moments, Erik had not threatened Ms. Daae. Nadir finally decided that it might be his best chance to get Carlotta to safety. 

He'd quickly walked back through the tunnels and up the set of stairs, always fearing that Erik might pursue him. He could only hope that Christine was keeping his masked comrade calm. Scooping up Ms. Glouer's limp body from the ground, Nadir carried her outside and quickly walked through the alleys. At one point, he had to go out into the open and cross a street. An elderly couple gave him a curious glance as he accidentally came into their view. Nadir cleared his throat and checked to make sure that Carlotta's face was covered with the blanket. "She just had a bit too much to drink," he stated. They shook their heads and turned away, obviously not wanting to get involved. Breathing a sigh of relief, Nadir continued forward. A soft moan escaped the woman's lips, signifying that she would awaken soon.

He finally reached the back of the medical facility and glanced around for any onlookers. Seeing no one, Nadir walked to the set of glass doors and placed her on the concrete porch. Not wanting to risk her life by leaving her in the cold, Nadir pounded on the door two times with the bottom of his fist. A light flipped on, and he quickly ran back into the shadows, now able to walk at a quicker pace without Carlotta in his arms.

The thought of Erik alone with Ms. Daae still made him nervous, and he continued to jog forward. It wasn't that Erik was born with a murderous nature. Before prison, he'd been somewhat detached from the world, but he'd possessed enough sanity and self-control to function as a human being. It was only after imprisonment that Erik became what the world perceived him to be: a cold-blooded ogre that was incapable of reason, compassion, or mercy.

And now Nadir wasn't sure what to think. It was still beyond his comprehension how the girl had come to care for Erik.

His heart was rapidly beating as he opened the door in the alleyway and descended into the darkness. Although he considered giving Erik more time to get over his anger, Nadir didn't want to leave Christine down there any longer. As he walked through the winding tunnels, he kept watch of his surroundings and was particularly on the lookout for a set of yellow eyes. He finally entered the dimly lit platform area, immediately noticing the silence. Looking down, he saw Christine leaning against one of the walls with her eyes closed. Several blankets were draped over her. For a split second, he wondered with horror if she was dead. The girl shifted, attempting to get comfortable against the frigid bricks. Her eyelashes fluttered once, and she was clearly breathing.

Nadir felt his shoulders relax, knowing that he was going to have to change his thought process soon.

"Nadir…" A voice whispered mere centimeters away from his ear. He jumped and turned around. Erik was still a fair distance away, staring at him with his arms crossed. The yellow eyes were disturbingly narrow, resembling a predator's right before it strikes its prey.

Nadir took a step backward, his heart hammering. A few scenes from his life passed in front of his eyes. "Erik. I said that I was sorry."

"You nearly made me lose her," he hissed in French, backing them both up into the closet. Erik quickly closed the door to the room, and Nadir miserably wondered if it was to keep Christine from seeing what was about to happen.

"I brought her to you," Nadir quickly replied, continuing to draw back as Erik advanced on him. He finally ran into the wall. "Does that count for nothing? Erik. I am sorry for not believing you."

"You tried to keep me from her! And she wanted to see me, Nadir. She wanted me." A soft choke came from behind the mask. "You nearly destroyed everything."

"But I brought her to you," Nadir pled, watching with some relief as Erik stayed a distance from him.

"And that alone will keep me from killing you tonight," Erik stated. Nadir felt his muscles relax. "You will never again interfere with matters that concern her," his comrade continued. "You will not drive her away. If you do, I will destroy you."

"I would not do that," he replied. "Erik. You act as though I wish for your misery."

Erik tilted his chin upwards. "Wish? Perhaps not, Nadir. But you have sentenced me to misery just as much as anyone else."

"Sentenced you?"

"You have condemned me to this hellish life with the rest of the world."

"Condemned you?" Nadir asked, unable to hide the disbelief in his voice. "You condemned yourself, Erik! You proudly declared yourself a monster. You wanted to kill them off one by one in the bloodiest ways possible, and I went along with you. This was _your_ plan…or mission or whatever it was supposed to be. How am I supposed to know when everything changes?"

"You did not believe that it could ever change," Erik rasped, the faintest hint of a tremble in his voice. "You did not believe me!"

"Did you even believe it?" Nadir shook his head and sighed, knowing that Erik's mind was not stable enough to take on this conversation. Any conscience that Erik had acquired was tightly wound around Christine Daae. He attempted to make peace. "I am truly sorry, Erik. That is all I can say to you. I will do what I can to help."

Erik just stared at him, a mixture of rage and uncertainty flickering within his gaze. He finally stepped back, his stance less aggressive, before turning around and opening the door. Christine was wide awake, her face pale as she looked toward them. Nadir subtly waved at her, and she smiled in relief. "You will watch her while I find us somewhere else to go," Erik commanded, still speaking in his native tongue. "You will assist her if she is in need of anything. Go through the left exit if there are any intruders. If she is not here when I return, I will devise a most exquisite torture for you."

"Where are you going?" he dared to ask.

"I am finding a more suitable place for her." He paused. "And I am not so sure if you are welcome with us."

Nadir sighed, watching as Erik abruptly left the closet and knelt down beside her. "I will be back soon," he stated in English, gently touching her cheek. "Ask Mr. Khan if you are in need of anything."

"Be careful, Erik," she murmured with a tired smile. With eyes shining in delight, Erik stood up and disappeared. Christine immediately looked toward Nadir. "Did everything go well?" she asked.

"I am still alive," Nadir stated with a wry chuckle, coming to sit beside her.

She nodded. "He said that he wouldn't hurt you." She looked at the ceiling. "Do you think he'll be okay?"

Nadir nodded. "I think he will take very good care of himself. He truly desires to live." _And I nearly killed him…_

"What's wrong?" She likely noticed the deep frown on his face.

"I suppose I am just exhausted," he replied. He wouldn't tell her what he had nearly done, that he had nearly broken her heart…that he had nearly snuffed out the one light in all this misery. "It has been a long evening."

"Yes," she replied, leaning back against the wall. Her eyes were tired but peaceful. "It has been."


	47. Turning Points

I was watching television with my mother, and the _Gap_ commercial with Patrick Wilson came on. I said, "Oh! There's Patrick Wilson." After my mother remembered who that was, she said, "I like him better with the longer hair." :D

Anyhow, the end of the third part is coming within the next few chapters. Thank you for all your lovely comments. Hope you continue to enjoy!

**Read and Review!!!**

Even beneath the pile of blankets, she was shivering. The cold bricks dug into the back of her head, a contrast to the goose feather pillows of the previous night. Exhausted, Christine still occasionally dozed off but was always awoken by the frigid temperature or a rumbling noise from above.

Despite the physical discomfort, she sensed a certain inner joy. Her soul was immediately soothed at seeing Erik alive and well, and she no longer had to worry about him being injured on her account. Although confined to the dusty subway tunnels of a foreign city, she somehow felt safer now than she had in that creepy rural home. Her feelings kept her somewhat warm as she waited for Erik to return.

Nadir stayed awake, leaning against the wall and staring at the ground in thought. She couldn't discern what was on his mind, but a small frown occasionally played across his aging face. Noticing that she was awake, he nodded at her. "I imagine that it is difficult for you to sleep here."

"Just a little," she replied with a yawn. "But I'm okay."

"Assuming it's not completely chaotic up there, we will leave soon. I imagine that they are searching for you right now," he stated, rubbing one of his temples. "Ms. Glouer's appearance will appease Frederick somewhat. But your young friend is likely worried."

She unhappily sighed. "I wish there was a way to tell Raoul that I'm safe. But…I'm afraid he wouldn't understand, especially with Frederick and Leonie there. And he hates Erik." Her brow furrowed, and she frowned. "Not that the feeling isn't mutual."

Nadir chuckled. "Yes. Erik isn't too fond of your friend."

"I wish he could understand that Raoul didn't do anything. I mean, Raoul had to have been a little boy back then, right?"

"I don't necessarily think that the past is the only reason why Erik has such a disliking for him. Raoul de Chagny represents everything that Erik will never be and can never have. I think it goes without saying that the girl he marries will be a blessed woman. And Erik knows that." He quietly added the last sentence.

She found herself somewhat irritated. Nadir puzzled her, simultaneously wanting to help Erik while frequently disparaging him, like a parent apologizing for a delinquent child. "I really hope that Raoul does find someone," she finally replied, looking Nadir in the eye. "I'd love to see him happy again. He deserves someone wonderful."

Nadir stared at her for a moment, before silently nodding in agreement. She pulled the covers up to her chin and huddled there, dozing after a few minutes. When she opened her eyes again, she saw two yellow lights in the darkness and watched as Erik set several bags upon the ground.

"Erik!" She sat straight up, calmed at seeing him unharmed.

He looked down at her, tilted his head, and nodded. "Christine."

"How is everything aboveground?" asked Nadir, still leaning against the wall.

"There are many authorities and patrol cars," he grimly stated. "Still, I was able to find us a better location for the time being. It is an inn, a bed and breakfast facility, but it is currently closed for renovation."

Nadir's eyes widened. "And you were able to get inside? No one was nearby?"

"Breaking inside was simple," replied Erik with a note of irritation. "And it was vacant. Stay here if you do not wish to come, Nadir. You will not be missed."

Christine removed the blankets and stood. "When are we going?"

"As soon as possible." He touched her cheek with two fingers. "You are becoming as cold as I am. But you are not meant to be that way, are you?" Erik gestured toward the bags. "I have brought you apparel to change into for now. There are more items waiting at the inn."

"Oh! Thank you, Erik." She picked up a bag and stared down at the folded pair of pants and shirt, forcing herself not to wonder whether they had been stolen. There was also a pair of tennis shoes, which looked divine after running in high heels all evening.

"We will dispose of your current possessions in case of a tracking device," he replied, pleasure in his tone as he watched her take delight in the clothing.

"I had not even thought of that," said Nadir with alarm. "Could one be in the purse, too?"

"I can't get rid of my purse," she softly protested. "Everything that I brought with me is in there. Money. And my phone."

Erik paused. "I do not think they would have put a device there. There would always be the chance that she would leave it behind, and the attempt to track her would be a waste. It is likely on her person." Nadir still frowned.

"I could put by belongings in one of the sacks and get rid of the purse," Christine murmured. She didn't want to put them all in danger over a silly leather bag. She was already the reason that they were forced to leave their hideaway.

Erik nodded, appearing unalarmed. "We will do so."

She ran into the closet to change clothes, shivering as the frigid air brushed against her torso. Her skin and hair felt slick with grime, but she knew that a shower was currently out of the question. Slipping the soft turquoise sweater over head, she immediately felt some relief from the cold. The black slacks also fit perfectly and warmed her legs. She walked out of the closet, holding the balled-up dress as though it were contaminated

Erik took the piece of clothing from her and abruptly ripped it into three jagged shreds. He held the strands of satin up and examined them closely. "There appears to be no embedded devices." He let them fall to the ground. "And you said the coat was not yours?"

"No. I took it from someone to get away." The coat still provided needed warmth, and she feared that Erik would gleefully tear it up if he knew whose it was. Nadir said nothing.

Erik nodded and stood up straight. "Grab what medical supplies you can, Nadir. I have already placed food at our next location. We are leaving before the wretched sun rises."

Christine quickly poured the contents from her purse into a bag, feeling her heart begin to pound in fearful anticipation. Although she was eager to leave the tunnels, the brick labyrinth was likely safer than anywhere else, especially for Erik.

After she slipped on the new shoes and stood, Erik took her hand and entwined their fingers together, looking down upon her with quiet adoration. She weakly smiled, feeling her stomach swirl with a mixture of happiness, worry, hope, and exhaustion. The three souls quickly walked through the tunnels, only two sets of footsteps audible. The dim lights cast everything in a surreal haze, and the nearby echoing noises gave the atmosphere a dreamlike quality. She imagined that someone might lose hold of reality if they stayed down there too long.

They came to a ledge at the tracks, and Nadir grunted as he pulled himself up and over the concrete ridge. She started to climb. "Wait. I will lift you over," Erik stated, although it sounded like a question. "Nails are protruding from the wall, and I am not in possession of a tetanus shot." She quickly nodded. After a moment's hesitation, Erik gently wrapped his hands around her waist, and she heard him take a shuddery breath as he raised her upwards. Nadir took her hand and pulled her all the way over. Before she could blink, Erik had also jumped up on the ledge and taken her hand again. They continued forward.

As soon as they exited the tunnels, she could hear the sirens wailing. Lights flashed in the distance, and someone occasionally shouted. Erik kept her to the right of him, positioning her beside the brick wall of the nearest building. Nadir walked slightly behind, and she was nearly hidden between them.

"How far is it?" whispered Nadir.

"Less than an hour," Erik replied. His shoulders were tense, and his eyes darted back and forth. Every so often, his hand would flinch toward his jacket as if to grab something. A car backfired, causing her to jump. "We will be there soon, Christine," Erik murmured, touching her back and ushering her forward. She couldn't tell where they were or in which direction they were going; the streets and alleys spun together with every corner and intersection. A dull cramp formed in her side, but she ignored it, forcing herself forward.

It was only when they finally stopped that she realized how hard her heart was pounding. She was dizzy from the fear of being shot at or caught. She was nauseously overwhelmed by the thought of running away with two men who were sought after by the police. Her hands were shaking, and she felt her stomach lurch. She placed a hand to her perspiring forehead, willing herself not to fall over. _Never in her life…_

"Christine?" Somewhere in the haziness, she heard Erik's heavenly voice speak with concern and felt her heart swell. And she immediately knew that she could have made no other choice that night, not without forever hating herself. "We are here. We are fine now." She nodded and squeezed his hand, managing to steady herself. She _would_ be fine.

"When did you last eat?" asked Nadir from behind her.

"Around nine this morning." She found herself being led up a wooden ramp and to a door with chipped blue paint. It was too dark to see the rest of the structure. The door squeaked open, and she could feel slightly warmer air come from the inside, along with the faint smell of cedar.

"I will only turn on a lamp," stated Erik. "Otherwise, the light may attract unwanted attention." A yellow glow encased the walls and furniture, revealing the floral wallpaper of two conjoined rooms. One was more of a sitting area with couches and tables, and the other appeared to be a bedroom. She slowly took a seat on a pine green velvet sofa, allowing her heart to calm and her head to stop spinning.

"She needs food," Nadir stated.

"I am aware of that!" Erik snapped. "I am not completely ignorant of the needs of the human race!" She heard Nadir sigh and leave to look at the other room, or maybe to just get away from Erik's temper.

Erik set something on the armrest beside her, and she looked down to see an opened package of cookies. She murmured her gratitude and took a handful of the circular treats, feeling more exhausted than hungry. Still, the sugary food brought the colors back into focus and calmed her nerves. Erik slowly sat on the opposite end of the sofa, watching her as she ate. "Are you ill?" he asked.

"No," she quickly replied. "Just tired. I'll be fine."

He nodded. "You will sleep well in the bedroom. It is very quiet here. And warmer."

"But what about you and Nadir?" she asked.

Nadir laughed from the other room. "Ms. Daae. After sleeping in subway tunnels for the past few weeks, the sofa will be paradise." He sounded sincere, and she relaxed somewhat. Erik continued to sit there, his hands folded together and his eyes unreadable.

"Erik," she softly began. "I ruined your plans by coming. I'm sorry. You had to leave your hideaway. You're not safe anymore."

"You are fine." She saw no anger or annoyance within his eyes. "You were unexpected, of course, but the plans involving Ms. Glouer were slowly disintegrating before you arrived. And I fear the tunnels were becoming maddening. We will be better here."

"I hope so," she whispered, setting down a half-eaten oatmeal cookie. She looked around. "Is there anything to drink?" He disappeared, and, within a second, a bottle of water was offered to her. "Thank you."

"Whatever you need is yours." Erik again took a seat, and a silence passed between them. "You have left your school, haven't you?" he asked in quiet realization. "And your music…"

She took a quick drink and shrugged. "It doesn't matter right now. I was too upset to go back."

"You cannot lose your voice again. I will not allow all our efforts to go to waste. If nothing else, you will sing for me?"

She nodded, wondering how he could even think about her voice when the world around them was in disarray. "I will, Erik."

His eyes beamed with contentment. "And I will find a new instrument. I really had no reason to play until now, you see." He placed his hand over hers, his icy fingers brushing against her wrist, and looked down. "Are you frightened?" he asked. "Your pulse is very quick. You do not need to be scared now, Christine."

She suppressed a saddened laugh at his assumptions and shook her head. "No. I'm just…I'm fine. Only a little tired."

He nodded. "You will rest, then."

Christine sat there a moment longer. She suddenly saw him raise his arms in her direction, before quickly setting them back at his sides. The movement was very slight, but she understood. She'd grown up on hugs, first from her father, relatives, and friends during her youth. She and Raoul had embraced more times than she could ever count, perhaps to the point where she had taken the act for granted. But somehow she doubted that Erik could say the same.

Her heart skipped a beat as she reached over and tightly wrapped her arms around his shoulders. He was so painfully thin that she couldn't understand how he managed to even stand up, let alone run from one place to the next with superhuman speed. She softly kissed the side of his head, near his ear and a stray wisp of dark hair. "Christine." He settled his arms around her back and sighed, his shoulders tensing and then relaxing. Feeling the uncomfortably cold porcelain beneath her cheek, she adjusted her head against his bony shoulder and held onto him for a long while.

Minutes passed, and she waited for him to decide when he wanted to let go of her. He never did. Only when Nadir entered did she gently pull back. Erik reluctantly released her and sharply looked up, giving Mr. Khan such a cold glance that she again nearly feared for Nadir's life. "Goodnight, Erik," she whispered. He just silently nodded, his eyes calming. She kissed the top of his head once before walking past a bewildered Nadir and into the bedroom. After shutting the door, she collapsed into the plushy mattress and slept, too exhausted to stay awake and worry over what the next few days would bring.

* * *

Frederick could hear the clicking heels of his bodyguards as they attempted to keep up with him down the hospital corridors. He doubted that the monster would try to get into the fifteen-story facility, but it was always a possibility. In fact, maybe his own niece was being used as bait to lure him there. He shuddered and slowed his pace so that the guards could once again surround him in a protective cocoon. 

"Where's my niece?" he asked the nurse's desk as he turned a corner on the eighth floor.

An elderly nurse looked over her thick-framed glasses at him. "Who's your niece, Sir?"

"Carlotta Glouer!" he exclaimed. "Don't tell me the idiots downstairs gave me the wrong floor." The older nurse frowned at him.

"Oh! Mr. Oliver," said a younger nurse on his left. "Right over here. You're the first relative to arrive."

He turned and followed her to the designated room, thankful that someone around there was competent. His niece was covered up to her neck with a hospital blanket, leaving only her limp red curls and pallid face visible. An IV had been hooked up to her arm and connected to a bag of clear fluid. Other machines were positioned around her, but they didn't appear to be in use. A doctor was standing beside her bed and scribbling something down on a chart.

"How is she?" asked Oliver.

"She's dehydrated and a bit malnourished," he replied, looking up and nodding. "A few bruises. It appears that she's also been drugged. We believe she'll make a full recovery, though. There should be no permanent damage."

"Thank God," replied Oliver. "Excellent news."

"She'll get the best treatment here," continued the doctor, obviously recognizing Oliver and the wealth that accompanied him. "She can stay here as long as necessary." Frederick just nodded, placing his hands in the pocket of his suit and standing to the side. The bodyguards stood just outside the door, and he couldn't but wonder if one should stay by the window, too. He was going to go crazy from paranoia.

"Where's my baby?" A woman's voice echoed out in the hallway. He quickly recognized it as his older sister's. They'd become somewhat estranged over the years after an argument over their father's will, in which he'd ultimately ended up with the better deal. Still, he'd passed enough money along to keep her expensively clothed and housed, not to mention getting her out of the country for awhile. A nurse led the weeping grey-haired woman into the room, and she ran to her daughter's bedside.

"She's going to be fine," softly stated the doctor. "She's just exhausted."

"Oh, thank God! Where did they find her?"

"Outside a local clinic."

She nodded and wiped her eyes with a tissue, before looking up at her brother. "Frederick," she stated, a frown darkening her worn face.

"Beverly," he replied with a nod. "It is joyous news, isn't it?"

She stood up straight. "Joyous? Carlotta nearly died! This is all your fault for-"

"I told her to get out of the country!" Oliver snapped back. "She didn't listen. Just be thankful that things turned out as well as they did. And stop blaming me."

Carlotta's eyes suddenly opened, and she frantically glanced around the room. Obviously not used to light, she squinted. Gripping the bed sheets with her pale hands, she softly cried out in surprise.

"My darling!" her mother exclaimed, taking her hand and kissing her pale cheek. "Thank God you're all right."

"Mummy!" she weakly exclaimed with a choked sob, reaching out and wrapping her arms around the woman's neck. "Oh, Mummy! I'm not there anymore. I'm not there! It was horrible!" She wept into her mother's shoulder for several moments.

"My dearest niece," Oliver stated, walking over to the other side. "Whatever did you get yourself into?"

"Oh!" she cried out in near hysterics, turning around. "Oh, Uncle Oliver." She grabbed onto the front of his white dress shirt. "It was horrible." Another sob of relief escaped her throat. "I don't ever want to go back. Please don't let him get to me. Please!"

He patted her shoulder. "You'll never go back. We'll go far away from the monster. How's that?"

She rapidly nodded. "Yes! Please! I want to go somewhere else! I thought he was going to kill me!" Her body shuddered and shook with each sob.

The doctor frowned. "She needs to be kept calm for now. Now that she's awake, I'm going to bring a nurse in to run some more procedural tests."

"Shh," her mother whispered, placing a hand upon her daughter's clammy forehead. "Calm down, sweetheart. You need to rest. You're safe now." Gripping onto her mother's arm, Carlotta rested her head back onto the pillow, eyes still wide with fright. Beverly glanced up at her brother. "Are you serious about leaving?" she suspiciously asked.

"Oh, quite serious," Oliver replied. "As soon as possible."

"What about the company?"

"It'll be out of my hands soon."

Her mouth fell open as though she were going to say something. After a moment, she closed it and just nodded, turning back to her daughter.

Oliver walked out into the corridor with a yawn, a bodyguard quickly following at his side. As a nurse started to enter the room, he grabbed her by the shoulder. The young woman looked up in surprise. "I have a quick question," he whispered. "My niece. Have you people checked to see if she was…inappropriately violated?"

Her face turned a little red. "Um…" She cleared her throat. "We examined her, Mr. Oliver. We found no signs."

Frederick nodded. "Excellent." The nurse quickly walked passed him. It significantly calmed him to know that the _thing_ hadn't touched her. He briefly wondered if Carlotta knew where she had been but decided to let the police handle those matters.

He widely yawned, exhausted from the evening. In fact, he was tired of everything. And now that he had come out extremely lucky with his niece, he was done with all of this. As he had told his sister, he was going to leave. De Chagny could take over now. Having worked with Leonie all these decades, Oliver already knew what her strategy would be.

Of course, Leonie was going to be infuriated that he was leaving so soon, but Frederick didn't really give a damn. He was going to take his niece and sister and Emily and go far away. His multi-million dollar fortune would make for a grand retirement.

Who knew? Maybe now that the monster had the blonde dame, it would go away. Ms. Daae made an attractive sacrifice. Oliver chuckled to himself, before poking his head back in Carlotta's room. "Well, Beverly. I'll leave you two alone and be back tomorrow. I'll make travel plans soon. How's that?"

"Yes!" exclaimed Carlotta, looking over at him. "Please let us leave." His sister just nodded.

Motioning to his bodyguards, Frederick walked out of the room. The trip in the elevator and down to the ground floor was uneventful until he stepped back outside. Members of the media were everywhere, and he gritted his teeth in annoyance, hoping a quick statement would satisfy them. Stepping up to a microphone, he muttered a few phrases about Carlotta being in good health and thanked the city of London for its support. Ignoring the rest of the questions, he climbed into his limousine and shut the door, letting his bodyguards push the crowds away. Emily was waiting for him inside.

"How is Ms. Glouer?" she asked.

"My niece is well," he replied, leaning back into the seat as the vehicle pulled away. He turned to her with a content expression. "We are leaving soon, Emily. Somewhere warm and tropical. Isn't that nice? Pack your bags. You can work for me there."

"What?" she asked in shock. "We're leaving? Why?"

He nodded. "Yes. London's getting a bit dull and dreary. I preferred Spain. Or maybe we'll go to the Caribbean."

Her brown eyes widened. "Oh! I have children, though. What will I do? Can I bring them?"

He grimaced. "I'm not going so that I can watch kids run around and make a mess of things. I'm trying to retire. No children."

"But…but I'll have to leave them! Oh…"

"Then I'll get someone else to go," he retorted, turning away from her and looking out the window. "Plenty of girls would cut off their hands for the opportunity." He could feel her panicking beside him. "I may even hire a private masseuse."

"No, Mr. Oliver," she stuttered. "I'll go. Please don't ask someone else. I can…I can send my boys back money, right?"

"Whatever makes you happy," he muttered with a yawn. "Just start packing."

* * *

Nadir waited several tense hours before speaking. Erik remained upon the sofa, motionlessly sitting in the dark and staring at the grey-green carpet with a strange glint in his eyes. His shoulders were fairly relaxed compared to earlier, and his hands were still settled at his sides. 

"How is Ms. Daae?" Nadir enquired, taking a seat in a desk chair. He didn't want to get too close to Erik with what he was about to say.

"Sleeping, obviously," he calmly replied.

"Good." He hesitated and swallowed. "Erik. She has repeatedly asked me about the past."

Erik tensed. "I have told her that it was not her concern."

"It is time that she knows, though. She's trusted us enough to assume that we had reasons for our horrible actions. It would help her to understand."

"No!" The yellow eyes flared. "She will loathe me."

"Loathe you?" asked Nadir. "Erik…she has come to you only knowing of your…" It was worse than walking on eggshells, more like walking on hot coals. "She only knows of the violence. You were a victim at one point."

"I was pathetic," he hissed.

"You were innocent at that time," Nadir protested.

"Erik was weak and disgusting, nothing more than an animal in a cage," he retorted, as though speaking of someone other than himself. "Had any person at the prison had a conscience, they would have shot Erik in the head and put him out of his misery. But it was much more entertaining to watch him writhe, no?" Erik's shoulders hunched.

Nadir shook his head, not wanting to push his comrade past a dangerous point. "I don't think that she will see it that way. Do you want her to believe that all of this was for nothing? That we did this for our own sick amusement? Nothing will ever justify all we've done, but…" He paused. "Maybe knowing the past will make it all a bit more understandable. Otherwise we are nothing but monsters," he whispered.

A long and eerie silence passed. "You tell her."

"You do not wish to tell her and get it off your mind? Sometimes the best therapy for-"

"Nadir? Do you truly have a death wish?"

"Fine. I will talk to her." Mr. Khan sighed. "What do we do next, Erik?"

Erik leaned back into the sofa. "I do not know. But she may know where they are. She may be able to lead us to them. Or to information concerning them."

"You would ask her to assist you in murder?" Nadir gently enquired.

Erik stared at the ground. "She would only be giving me the location. To end this forever. And then there will be no more death. There will only be her."

"She will not allow you to kill that boy. You know that." Erik glared, his fingers digging into the armrests. Nadir swallowed and retreated. "It is just a lot to ask of her."

"I will ask her what she wishes to do," Erik stated. "As long as she stays, we will be fine."

Nadir understood. _As long as she stays, _I _will be fine. _


	48. Hate and Love

I think it's interesting how everyone's opinions differ so much with this story. Some of you felt sorry for Emily, and others thought she was being horrible. Some of you feel sorry for Nadir, and others feel like he's ruining Erik's happiness. Some of you can already see the positive changes in Erik, and others think he's beyond hope.

This is probably one of the softest chapters so far. The next chapter will likely mark the ending of the third part. Part four will likely be the last part, but it will be fairly long. I hope you all continue to read and enjoy. I still love each and every review that I receive. You guys really inspire me.

**Read and Review!!!**

He found himself waiting for her to emerge from the bedroom. He'd waited for Christine during the last year more than he'd waited for anything else in his life, from when she was a hostage coming downstairs for her vocal lessons to when she went on her holiday vacation in November. Outside of her, there had never been anything to look forward to.

Drumming his fingers against the table, he glanced at the bag of newly acquired items, hoping she would be pleased with them. Of course, they were stolen, but there was no way he could enter an open store without winding up with a bullet in his head. And so he remained a ghost, swooping into closed shops and taking whatever he wished. He would spend the rest of his life as a ghost. Only to her was he something else, although it was difficult to tell _what_ that something was. He would be content to be a dog at her feet if it meant staying with her forever.

His mind was telling him of other matters that needed attention. Oliver was still alive. If he wanted any of Christine's information to be of use, he needed to ask as soon as possible. He didn't wish to think about those matters at that moment, though. As the door to the bedroom finally opened, he forced Oliver from his mind, watching her as she walked into the living area. She had pushed her long hair up into a ponytail. She was wearing the same clothes from the previous day, and they were now wrinkled from sleep. He would need to buy her nightclothes.

"Good morning," cheerfully stated Nadir from his place on the sofa.

"Morning," replied Christine. He tensed in annoyance as the traitor took her affections away. "Hi, Erik," she said with a cautious smile, sitting next to him at the table. He relaxed and was thankful that the blinds and curtains blocked out all sunlight from the room. The last thing he wanted was the light of morning to illuminate his hideousness.

"Christine. Were you comfortable?" he hoarsely enquired.

"Yes. Just fine," she replied. "It was very warm."

"Very good." He had a driving need to keep her happy; if she was happy, then she would stay. The thought of her leaving hacked away at his sanity, and so he didn't risk letting the possibility into his mind.

"Were you in the subway tunnels all that time?" she asked, folding her hands atop the table.

"Yes," he replied. "They were very suited for me."

She shuddered. "They seemed awful. But I guess you were safe. It'd be terrible if someone found you now." She gnawed at her lip in obvious guilt and sighed.

"They will not find us," he replied. "I will not let them. And if they did, you would say that I took you against your will." Nadir nervously glanced up. "And they would be eager to believe you."

"No, Erik!" she exclaimed. "I wouldn't say that. I would…" She paused and stared down in thought. "I would try to get you out," she finally murmured, unable to come up with a better plan.

"I would not let them take me to prison, Christine."

A pained expression contorted her lovely face. "Don't say that," she pled. "Erik. I would do whatever I could to get you out. Don't make them hurt you."

He refrained from telling her that he would likely be shot on sight no matter what the circumstances. Instead, he basked in her kind words, the warmth of her concern seeping into his icy flesh and nearly causing him to shudder. "It is of no concern. They will not find us. We should not even speak of it." She nodded, but a disconcerted frown remained. "I have gifts for you," he continued, attempting to please her again. "To keep you entertained during our stay here." He reached over and pulled the bag closer, before pulling out several books, including everything from classic novels to best-sellers to paperback romances. He then retrieved a new deck of cards, these with a picture of the London skyline on the back, along with several magazines.

Her eyes widened. "Erik. You don't have to get me so much."

"But you will grow bored, I fear. It is impossible for you to go out. Just take what you like."

"But isn't it dangerous to go into stores?"

He waved a hand to the side. "It is child's play for me, Christine. It is nothing."

"Thank you," she finally said, picking some of the books up and turning them over to read the back covers. She took the deck of cards into her hand and softly laughed. "More tricks?"

"If you would like," he eagerly replied.

She smiled. "We can play more games with Nadir here, too."

"I'm up for it," Mr. Khan replied with a laugh.

He felt himself tense again. Perhaps part of it came from the feeling that Nadir was constantly monitoring his every move, waiting for _him_ to err and prove himself a monster. Every person on earth, particularly de Chagny, was really a threat when it came to Christine. No one would want a thing like him to be near the angel, and so he would have to fight to the death to keep her. He was very willing to do so. "Are you all right?" Christine asked, staring at him with her head tilted.

He looked down to see that his hand was tightly clenched. "I am perfectly fine," he replied. "Are you in need of anything else? Simply ask, Christine."

"No," she replied. "This is enough. It's too much." She lifted his hand and pressed her lips to his fingers in gratitude, and he nearly wanted to weep with joy.

Releasing his hand, she stood and ran a hand over her face and through her hair. She frowned in distaste. "I'm going to see if the water works."

"It does," stated Nadir. "But it's not warm."

She nodded. "That'll have to do."

Christine returned to the bedroom, and the faint sound of rushing water could be heard from behind the closed door. After nearly an hour, she came out with her hair in damp strands, wearing a sky-blue turtleneck that he had obtained for her. He silently observed as she sat down on a couch and consumed several crackers, before again taking a seat beside him and picking up one of the books. A rare self-satisfaction overtook him as he admired her expression of contentment. _He_ had provided her with all basic necessities. No matter what the Iranian fool thought, _he_ could take care of her.

The rest of the day was calmly spent with books and cards. She remembered one of the shuffling tricks that he had taught her months ago, smiling with pride as the cards flipped quickly from one hand to the next. He wanted nothing more than to get her singing again, but that was currently impossible.

It was mid-afternoon when he finally dared to ask about Oliver. Although his interrogations were usually blunt and vicious, often involving torture, he did not demand an answer from her. "How long were you with Oliver?" he calmly asked, after she had grown tired of reading.

"Just two nights," she replied. "Although it seemed like longer…"

"Did they ask questions of you?"

"No. Not really."

He nodded. "Do you know where you were? In London? Outside of the city?" He could hear Nadir sharply inhale behind him.

She lowered her gaze in understanding, her expression downcast. "Oh. I…"

A miserable feeling immediately settled upon him. _You wish to turn her into a murderer? Why not rip off her face so she can fitfully stand by your side? Why not just tear out her beating heart? You are a vile serpent._ "No," he choked out. "Forget the matter. Forgive, Erik. I will not ask that of you now." He brought her hand to his masked cheek and held it there. "Do not answer me. You will hate yourself."

"Erik," she gently began. "I do want this to end. I hate all of it. It's just…It's hard to…" She paused. "I didn't like Frederick and Leonie. But it's hard to think about them dead after meeting them and talking to them." She sighed. "I don't know…I…"

"Shh," he hushed her. "It will be fine. I will take care of everything."

"What are you going to do?" she asked, her fingers brushing against the mask.

"I am still deciding."

Immediately after the sun set, he went out into the darkness, explaining that he needed time to think. He could feel Christine curiously staring after him. His mind was cluttered, and he was at a loss for what to do. Murder Oliver and then what? How many more months would that take? What if they found her and took her away? What if they brainwashed her against him?

He frantically paced in an alleyway, muttering under his breath as a cold wind blew against him. He was not insane, no. Just lost. After his revenge was completed, he'd always planned to die. Now that he had something to lose, he desperately wanted to hold onto it. She was so very dear. He would let no one take her away!

After an hour, he returned to the building. He could hear Nadir's voice from behind the door and stopped to listen, immediately closing his eyes and clenching his jaw as the words became discernible. They were speaking of the past. _His_ past.

"Trenton was from England," Nadir stated in a low voice. "He seemed very educated from what little I saw of him. He had a good sense of humor, too. You could probably find his records at one of the universities around here."

"What did he think of Erik?" his angel asked.

"Trenton died before Erik was born," Nadir somberly replied. "It's a shame, really. I think he would have handled the situation better than his wife."

He decided to leave before they turned to a topic that would enrage him. Fortunately, talk of his father stirred no emotions within him. He didn't have any misplaced anger at him for dying, nor did he mount the man on a golden pedestal as his mother had done. He felt nothing for Trenton either way.

He stayed away for a long time, every muscle tensed with fear and anger. What if he came back and she despised him? He could just see her face right now. Disgust. Horror. At best, pity. He would strangle Nadir for this!

With nothing else to do, he ventured into the city to find a new gift for her, one that he thought she'd genuinely enjoy. He found her a musical disk of opera compositions, a compilation of the more famous arias and duets. Perhaps she would wish to learn some of them. Out of necessity, he also grabbed a battery-powered player. He'd never used one of the devices, but he became aware that most of the modern world had them after he'd escaped from prison.

He'd come to resent everything that represented modern society and consumerism. The world had thrived and flourished as he'd rotted away in prison. He'd hated everyone and everything, from every upscale department store to every technologically-advanced gadget to every laugh of joy. Any electronic device that he'd come across was used only for the purpose of revenge.

Until now.

With his gifts in hand, he returned to the vacant building, only to hear them still talking. Grimacing, he remained by the door.

"She was dead?" asked Christine with horror.

"Yes. By the time we got there, Madeleine was dead. And so we left that night before they could come back."

"And Frederick did that?"

"The six members of _Falcon_ didn't do anything except give orders. I doubt that any one of them has ever actually committed murder. They just…command and control."

"Raoul's dad, too?" she asked in a shaky voice.

Nadir paused. "I think that is enough history for tonight. I am getting a bit tired. But…Louis de Chagny was probably the best of the bunch. I'll tell you more of that later. I am almost thankful that he died of natural causes before Erik could get to him."

"Yeah," she murmured. A short silence followed. "Can I ask one more question tonight?"

"Go ahead."

"What did Erik do to go to prison? Just tell me that. I don't care what it was. It won't change how I feel. I just want to know."

He cringed, fighting the urge to break down the door and end this.

"He merely existed," Nadir replied. "I'm not saying that Erik had never committed a crime in his life before then. He'd stolen a few times…been in several violent fights as a teenager. The French authorities accused him of a vicious double murder, though. At that time, he was innocent. He was only around your age."

"My God…" she murmured. He chose to enter at that moment. His jaw clenched as she turned around to look up at him. He swore that he saw pity in her eyes.

"Erik," stated Nadir. "You were gone awhile." He cast his comrade a quick glare before looking back at Christine. Without a word, he set her gift on the table and took a seat, appearing outwardly calm as panic rose in his throat.

Nadir looked between them and stood. "I think I will go out for a bit now. The room is getting stuffy."

Erik glanced at him. "Watch yourself, Nadir," he coldly warned. "If you end up in prison again, you may as well get used to the cell."

"I will be careful," he muttered, closing the door behind him.

He heard her stand and walk up behind him. "Are you leaving, too?" he grimly asked. _I will not allow it!_

"No. Erik…"

"I do not want pity. The past is gone."

"It's not pity," she protested. "I just…I'm sorry that it happened. It's horrible…I can't even…"

"And it is over," he replied, his breath unsteady. "Have you eaten?"

"No," she whispered. "I'm not hungry."

A sound between a sigh and a growl escaped his throat, and he turned to face her. "That idiot upset you with his stories, didn't he? And now you are not happy anymore."

"Well, I hate what happened to you. But that doesn't mean I'm not happy here."

"Nadir should keep his mouth closed. I will speak to him later."

"But I want to know, Erik!" she exclaimed. "More than anything. It helps me understand."

"Understand _what_?" he rasped.

A short silence passed. "You," she finally replied. "And how things ended up like this."

_He didn't need this._ "You should go to bed now."

"All right," she said with a sigh of resignation. "I'll go."

His hands clenched into bony fists. "Just to bed," he quickly reiterated. "Not away." _I could not bear it._ "Do you need anything? A glass of water?"

"No. I'm fine."

She continued to stand there, and he turned back around. He didn't want to scream at her to get out; she might never come back. If she attempted to bring up his horrific past again, he was going to fly into a rage. He inhaled. "I found music for you. Grand arias. They will suffice until I get a violin. Do you like that? Look. It is on the table."

"Oh, Erik…" _Please stop, Christine. _He heard her take a shuddery breath. "Do you want me to tell you where I was now?" Her voice trembled. "I will…if it helps."

"No," he stated. "I do not want that. You will be ruined. There will be no death or blood on your hands, Christine."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

She sniffled. "I don't even know what to say. But I-"

"Say nothing," he interrupted her. "Go to bed. You may take the music to listen to."

She stood there a moment longer, staring at him. And then she softly spoke again. "Erik…I love you." The blood froze in his veins. He could say nothing in return, was unable to even meet her eyes. He just sat there, attempting not to choke on his own breath. He closed his eyes as his own mind momentarily abandoned him. "Goodnight," she finally whispered after a minute of silence, bringing him back from wherever he had gone. The bedroom door clicked shut behind him.

* * *

Leonie stared out the window of her sixth-floor hotel suite with her arms crossed, watching a double-decker bus pass by on the streets below and puzzling over the next path to take. She supposed that her decision would heavily depend on Frederick's plans, and she had the feeling that he was going to make a quick escape. He'd been speaking of retirement for some time. _The coward. _She should have known from the beginning. 

There was a knock upon her door, and she cringed. Raoul had likely come over from his room across the hall, wondering what they were going to do next. They had spent the previous night at a police station watching a string of video tapes that showed Christine exiting the banquet hall. The girl had then run to a vehicle with a man, apparently the same man who had just escaped from prison, and left with him. Police had questioned the driver of the taxi, but the driver had claimed that no conversation took place between the passengers. He could only say where he had dropped them off.

In reality, she didn't care whether Christine was found. But she needed to keep Raoul happy, and she needed to keep herself alive. It would be extremely satisfying to find the psychopath and wipe him off the face of the earth. She could then concentrate on more important things.

She answered the door with a sympathetic smile, but her eyes quickly widened in surprise. "Frederick! How did you know where I was?"

"I asked the police," he smugly replied, gesturing at his bodyguards to stay outside the room. "They tell me everything."

"I see." She wasn't surprised. "Where were you all night? How is your niece?"

"I was at a _Marriot _suite. With Emily." Leonie scowled. "And Carlotta is expected to make a full recovery."

"Wonderful news," she muttered. "Now you can deal with de Chagny. He's rather mad at you, dear. I think he's going to cry soon."

Oliver chuckled. "You can deal with the boy. I'm leaving."

She sharply glanced up. "When?"

"As soon as I get the paperwork done and find a flight. Should be within a week or two." He grinned. "Retirement in paradise. God knows I've earned it."

"Already?" she shrilly asked. "You can't go now! I don't have anything organized yet!"

"You're smart, Leonie. You'll figure it out. I'll sign my share over to de Chagny."

She shook her head in disgust. "You're just trying to unload everything on Raoul in case you get sued. Or murdered. You don't even care about the corporation, do you? Well, I'm going to hold it together. Maybe I'll double profits by next year."

He chuckled. "Ambitious until you die, right? You have fun, sweetheart. I hope you triple profits."

"You're a bastard!" she hissed back at him.

"Leonie, dear. I can assure you that your heart is far colder than mine. I've done what I had to do to protect myself. I've done what I needed to keep my wealth. But you do it because you're sadistic." He turned around and headed for the door. "I'll get the paperwork organized for you."

She followed him into the crimson-carpeted hallway. "I could tell the authorities all you've done!" she quietly threatened.

"And you'd go to prison for just as long as I would," he calmly replied.

Raoul suddenly opened the door and stepped out of his room, his dress clothes wrinkled. "What's going on?" he asked, looking between them.

"He's leaving us," she stated. "Frederick is abandoning us. He's going to retire."

"What!" Raoul exclaimed. "But what about Christine? You can't just leave now!"

"Would you shut up about her?" Frederick rolled his eyes and started to walk down the hallway. "Billions of girls out there, and you pick the craziest of them all."

Raoul nearly lunged at him, but Leonie grabbed his arm just as a bodyguard took a step forward. His blue eyes were clouded with anger and exhaustion. The boy likely hadn't gotten any sleep. "It's not worth it, Raoul," she murmured. "Let him go. We don't need him."

Frederick turned back around. Seeing the glint in her eye, he began to laugh. Freddie couldn't help but appreciate her methods one last time. The corner of her lip twitched. "That's right," said Oliver. "You don't need me. Leonie will walk you through it."

"You're scum!" Raoul exclaimed.

Leonie took him by the shoulder and turned him toward her hotel suite. "I'll help you get to Christine, dear. We'll do everything we can to find her. Freddie's not the only one with power."

Take care, Leonie!" Frederick called. Leonie refrained from giving him a single-fingered goodbye and followed Raoul into the room, before softly shutting the door behind her.

"I can't believe that he would do this!" exclaimed Raoul, pacing between the bed and the dresser. "He…he used me! He ruined everything!"

"He used both of us," she replied. "And now it's time for us to pull ourselves together and forget him. It's time for us to put the company back on its feet."

"I don't think I can handle it," he muttered.

"But you have to," she stated. "You see, Raoul. I couldn't ever have children. And this corporation is really like my baby. I want to see it in good hands before I die."

He miserably shook his head. "I just want to find Christine. What else can we do? Who else can we talk to?"

"We'll wait for sightings," she replied, taking a seat next to him. "Offer a hefty reward for her return, of course. And the police will do their jobs. If you stay, I'll put all my energy into finding your friend. And Raoul! You'll have enough power to get what you want done. You can hire an entire army to look for her."

"I could?" He looked up, and she quickly nodded. "Maybe," he stated with a swallow. "Maybe the police would be more cooperative. They just do what Frederick wants now."

She smiled. "You'd be surprised how much control Freddie had. But he used it unwisely. I know you won't do that."

Raoul slowly nodded. "I'd never do anything that Oliver does. He's…disgusting."

Adrenaline buzzed within her as she began to claim victory. "Your father would have wanted this for you. He would love to see you at the top of it all, following in his footsteps. And I'll help you. We'll help each other."

He continued to nod. "I guess I don't have anything to go back home to. And once Christine is found, I could always run things from the United States, right?"

She laughed. "Of course, dear. You're in control. You do what you want. I'll just…help you on your way."

He rubbed his head. "Thanks, Leonie. I'm just…I'm so exhausted right now. I want to _kill_ Frederick. I hate him!"

She laughed. "I know, dear. But that would get a bit messy."

He wryly chuckled, strands of blonde hair falling into his tired eyes. The boy would work out well. Unlike Freddie, he reeked of innocence. Freddie always had a smirk or a crocodile grin on his face. Raoul had boyish features and a genuine smile of kindness; everyone would trust him. And she had lost her good looks years ago…

Ever since she had gone into hiding after the first murders, Freddie had let _Falcon_ fester. She would ensure that it thrived. In some ways, she hoped that they didn't find the freak and the blonde girl for a little while. It was much easier to keep the young man under control. And by the time she was ready to die, after she'd had her last years of fun, Raoul de Chagny would be perfectly molded.

* * *

As soon as Nadir returned after a short walk around the building, most of which was spent admiring asphalt, Erik pushed past him. His masked friend disappeared into the night without a word, and Mr. Khan could only stare after him in surprise. Nadir took a slow seat on the sofa, sensing a tension in the air. It had been his intention to give them time to talk, and he wondered what had occurred in his absence. He had to withhold himself from going into the bedroom and ensuring that Christine was still alive. Silence reigned throughout the two rooms. 

Erik came back several hours later, his yellow eyes like dancing flames. Nadir stood back as his comrade paced within the small area, his masked face tilted toward the floor and his shoulders heaving. Finally, he stopped. Placing his hands behind his back, he stared downwards. "Nadir," he finally began in a distant voice.

"Yes, Erik?"

"The best that we could hope for is Oliver's death, correct? Any sort of ransom would be impossible. We would be left as destitute as we currently are."

Nadir paused and curiously studied his friend. "I suppose it would be possible to get a ransom, but…"

"But only after another decade of setting up ridiculous plans in which we have a fifty percent chance of having our skulls blow apart?" He chuckled. "Is that right, Nadir?"

He rubbed his chin. "I suppose you could say that."

"And so there is only death. That is the only payment if we manage to get to the vile man." Erik's voice was strange, as though he hoped his own words were true. There was a shrill desperation, although Nadir still wasn't able to determine what was on his friend's mind.

"Oliver's death may be it," Mr. Khan agreed.

"And there is more now, isn't there? There is not just emptiness. There is…" Erik bent his neck and placed his head into his hands, wrapping his bony fingers around the top of his forehead. He took a seat on the sofa with a shaky breath. "What time is it, Nadir?"

"Almost two in the morning."

He nodded. "Still hours before she awakens."

"What is going on?" Nadir cautiously asked. "What happened?"

"I must speak to her," Erik replied, taking something from his pocket. "I must ask her. She will…She will tell me. And then I can know."

Nadir felt his muscles tense with nervousness. "Know what? Where Oliver is?"

"No, Nadir," he replied. "She will know what comes next."


	49. Fly Away

Here is the end of Part 3. The rest of this semester is going to be busy, and I'm starting to get the dreaded senioritis. Therefore, I'm not sure how soon the next part will be up. My hope is that this chapter will leave you somewhat satisfied until then. Enjoy! And thank you again for all your support.

**Read and Review!!! **

Christine had slept in so many different places over the last year that it was becoming difficult to recall where she was upon awakening. When she opened her eyes and grasped onto her surroundings, she immediately remembered the previous evening. The room was chilly, and she was hesitant to crawl out from beneath the cotton comforter, preferring to lie there with her melancholy thoughts for a few moments.

Nadir had told her about Erik's childhood. At first, she had found the story depressing but not necessarily devastating. Maddy wasn't a great mother, but worse cases of child abuse could be found in the newspaper everyday. It was only when Mr. Khan spoke of Maddy's death and the manufacturing plant that she finally began to understand. By merely existing, Erik was a threat to _Falcon_. When he was barely ten-years-old, they'd attempted to kill him. Even without knowing the details of his decade in prison, she partially understood why Erik couldn't play by the rules of society. It wasn't just because of his mangled face. He was the dirty secret of a powerful, multi-billion dollar company.

When Erik had returned, she had swallowed her fear and told him that she loved him. Understanding his past helped her to say the three words, even if she had felt them for the longest time. To her dismay, he hadn't responded. She didn't even speculate on why he stayed silent, but his reaction had stung. If he'd stopped loving her, Christine guessed that she would still try to help. Her heart ached for him to find something to live for…to find some semblance of happiness in his horrible life.

Finally, she climbed out from beneath the covers, shivering as the cold air brushed against her arms. After putting on a clean shirt and running a brush through her limp hair, she opened the door to the bedroom. Erik appeared in front of her so quickly that she nearly jumped back in surprise. Nadir was situated a few feet away, frowning in confusion. "Good morning," she stated, her voice still hoarse from sleep. She nervously looked between them.

"Christine," greeted Erik. She couldn't read his vibrant eyes.

"Is everything all right?" she asked, her voice shaking slightly. "No one found us, did they?"

"No. No. We are fine," Erik replied. Although his voice was somewhat frantic, he didn't sound upset. "But I must speak with you. Alone." She glanced at Nadir, and he subtly shrugged.

"All right," she replied, taking his offered hand. Her stomach clenched with nervousness as he led her back into the room and shut the door.

"Sit down," he gently commanded.

"Erik? What's wrong?" she asked with a swallow, taking a seat in a cushioned desk chair. "Did something happen?"

He paced across the length of the room, before taking several long strides to stand in front of her. Erik then crouched so that they were eye level. "I must ask you something," he whispered, slowly taking her hand again.

"What?"

He momentarily closed his eyes, leaving two black voids behind the holes of the mask. The yellow dots appeared again. "Christine. Will you leave with me?"

"Leave?" she softly asked, unintentionally squeezing his hand.

"Leave all of this," he replied. "And just…disappear! To where no one will ever find us."

"Have you…" She inhaled. "Is Frederick still alive?"

His shoulders tensed. "Unfortunately, yes. And I never wish to hear his name again."

"You're not going to…?"

"No," he rasped. "Not if you will come with me. I do not care any longer. There is only you now. Will you go with me, Christine?" He stared at her, his eyes pleading…yearning…

She stared at the ground for a moment as dozens of confused thoughts swirled in her mind. _Just…disappear…?_ In a perfect world, Frederick and Leonie would go to prison, and Raoul would understand her decision. Ideally, she and Erik wouldn't have to hide. But she wasn't a stupid, naïve child. The three of them didn't have the power to fight _Falcon _or the entire London police force. Erik was giving up his vengeance, his main reason for living, and that was all he could do. That was all he had to offer. As she took this in, her heart joyously swelled with the knowledge that he truly wanted to live. Her answer somewhat frightened her, but it was truly the only choice she could make. "I'll go with you, Erik."

His shoulders slouched in relief, and he clasped onto her hand with both of his. "Christine!" he exclaimed, his tenor voice shrill. "Christine…Yes…I swear that I will take good care of you. You will see! We will be fine."

She held onto his hands as he knelt before her, feeling a little lightheaded. "Is Nadir coming?" she asked.

"Do you want him to?"

"Well…yes."

"Then he will," immediately replied Erik. "We will all go where no one can ever disturb us. And we will have music…and your voice. And we will have whatever you wish!" He released her hands to touch her hair, and she suddenly felt a cold sensation lingering upon her finger. Christine sharply glanced down, her eyes widening in surprise to see a plain gold band on her left ring finger. Erik noticed her startled expression. "It is merely a small token of affection," he quickly explained. "Just a sign of devotion. Nothing more than that, Christine." He choked once.

"Oh," she whispered, watching it glint in the dim light. "Thank you, Erik." It was all so shocking and sudden, like being in a dream. Erik reached out his open hands toward her, rising slightly, and she slowly wound her arms around him.

"There is no need to be scared," he assured her, perhaps feeling her pounding heart. "You are safe with me. You have made Erik so happy…"

"No. I'm not scared. I'm fine," she murmured, clinging to his emaciated body in search of comfort from the uncertainty. "It's just very surprising. But...I'm happy." He said nothing in response, but she could hear him breathing deeply behind the mask. He rested a hand against the back of her head and entwined his fingers into her hair. She drew back and looked into his eyes. The black porcelain was the only object separating them. "When are we leaving, Erik?"

"As soon as possible," he replied, his voice hoarse now. "As soon as I am able to make preparations." She nodded, and he stared at her face for a moment, a nearly inaudible moan escaping his hidden lips. After brushing his fingers against her cheek, he released her and stood to his full height. "We will tell Nadir now. He needs to be aware."

She nodded, shakily standing and following him out of the room. Nadir jumped up from a chair and looked curiously between them.

"We have decided to leave London," announced Erik. "Somewhere far. Perhaps still in this country for now as it would be impossible to get all of us on a ship. But we are leaving as soon as I am able to find a way out. "

"And Oliver?" stuttered Nadir in disbelief.

"Do not ever mention him to me."

Nadir rubbed a hand over his mouth and looked at her. She merely nodded in confirmation, watching as Erik walked toward the door.

"I will be back soon," rapidly continued Erik. "It is still early morning and perfectly overcast, and I wish to find a map of the country. And then we will further our plans." He glanced at Nadir. "Stay with her while I am gone. And begin making arrangements." The yellow eyes danced and flickered, before disappearing behind the door. A cold gust of moist air entered, ruffling the curtains and causing goose bumps to form on her arms.

Nadir stood there blinking, before finally turning to her. "What in Allah's name…? Christine?" He suddenly noticed the ring on her finger and cursed, shaking his head in horror. "Ms. Daae? Do you want me to stop this madness? I could get you to the authorities before he gets back."

"What?" She took a deep breath and heavily sat down upon the sofa. "The madness has already been stopped," she replied. "There's no more revenge. He's not going to kill Frederick."

"But this cannot be what you want-"

"Nadir…I…I love him," she softly interrupted, staring downwards. "I wish we didn't have to run. I wish everyone would just leave us alone. But I know that none of us have enough power for that to happen. And I can't leave him, Nadir. I can't ever let him go."

"But we will be disappearing to who knows where," Nadir continued. "Who knows what will happen to us? And Erik is…" A miserable frown crossed his face. "Perhaps I should have never retrieved you."

"No!" she exclaimed. "Don't say that! I'm glad you did. I just... I'll be fine. This is what I want." Christine weakly smiled and looked up at him. "You'll come with us, right?"

"Of course," he gently whispered, taking a seat at the table. A sigh of resignation escaped his lips, and he rubbed his temples with one hand.

She nodded, her eyes moist with tears. "We'll all be fine, then. We'll get away."

* * *

_Raoul de Chagny_. He stared down at his own signature, the cursive letters repeatedly written on the bottoms of the white forms. All the fine dark print blurred together, a collection of nonsensical rules and agreements. Only his name stood out to him. Raoul suddenly felt a little sick inside, as though everything were spinning out of his control. "Let's see," murmured Leonie, breaking into his jumbled thoughts as she flipped through the papers. "Oh. Sign here." 

"What's this one?" he wearily asked. He could sense her annoyance and almost felt guilty for his constant questions. Someone had once told him not to sign something until he read it. By that point, though, he was too exhausted to even focus on the words.

"Freddie leased office space in several countries," Leonie curtly replied. "This is for Berlin. A nice little place with its own indoor pool for employees. You're just taking over the payments now."

"Do we have enough money for all this?"

Leonie placed a hand to her heart and laughed. "I think billions of dollars covers it. Don't you, dear?" She continued to chortle. "Silly boy." He blinked, before wearily putting his name on the document and praying that it was the last one. "There," she said. "That takes care of the more important matters. We'll look at the rest later."

Raoul slowly nodded, staring down at the plush blue carpet and polished pinewood furniture. The room was lit by the many lights of a small, golden chandelier that was hanging from the ceiling by a single chain. Voices echoed off the high ceiling from nearby rooms. "Now what?" he asked, loosening his tie. The heat in the forty-story, steel-reinforced building was becoming uncomfortable.

"Now I show you around the offices," she replied. "You're going to love the suite. The view of the city is positively stunning." Leonie started to walk toward a pair of double doors, her head held high.

"But…" He swallowed. "But what about Christine? Shouldn't we go ask the police if they have any more information this morning?"

She stopped walking and turned, a touch of annoyance marring her otherwise sympathetic expression. "The police are still searching, dear. Apparently, there were sightings in a few alleyways. They may start looking in the subway tunnels. There was a door or something."

"The tunnels? Why didn't anyone see them down there?" he asked. "Aren't there thousands of commuters?"

"These are out of use," she replied.

He hesitated. "Maybe I should go down there and help them look…"

Leonie laughed. "You're much more of a help here. It's filthy down there, and you'd just be in the way. Now come with me." She gestured to him and began walking forward again. "Relax. They're looking as hard as they can. I'm sure she's still alive. The creature seems to be very fond of her."

He felt nauseous, not knowing where he should be or what he should be doing. If Christine had suddenly appeared in front of him, Raoul would have grabbed her hand and flown back to the United States. He would have hired fifty bodyguards to stand around his house and protect them both. Now, all he could do was follow Leonie.

She led him through several lounges with Oriental throw rugs and handcrafted furniture sets. There were coffee shops and delis scattered throughout the building, filled with men and women in formal business attire. A phone occasionally rang, and crumpled newspapers were scattered atop the tables. A cleaning lady came by, listening to a portable radio as she gathered up the trash. A few people whispered to each other as he and Leonie passed by, and Raoul found himself uncomfortable. "Do they know who we are?" he whispered to Leonie.

"Some do," she replied, glancing at him. "Relax, Raoul. It's just like your previous career only much nicer. I'll guide you through everything."

"Ms. Neumanns!" He heard a female's voice behind them. A younger woman with curly red hair quickly walked forward, clasping several papers in her hand. "You're Ms. Neumanns, right?" she asked, slightly out of breath. "And Mr. de Chagny?"

"We are," replied Leonie.

"Oh. Good! Someone said you were up here."

"What do you need?" Leonie asked, eyeing her.

"I'm sorry to bother you," she quickly replied. "But these came in from Denmark nearly three weeks ago, and Mr. Oliver has been gone. I thought you would want to get them signed as soon as possible. We're all feeling a bit lost here."

With an irritated sigh, Leonie took them and glanced them over. "Oh, yes. Another one of these. I swear, Frederick. You are the most incompetent…. " she muttered to herself, pulling out a pen. "I guess we'd better get this matter cleared up." She signed her name, before handing them to Raoul. "Just put your signature below mine, dear."

"What's this?" he asked.

"Just some papers concerning a lawsuit. You're just paying the attorney's bill…giving them permission to represent us."

"What's the lawsuit for?" Raoul enquired, frowning as the secretary suppressed a laugh.

"Oh. Who really knows?" replied Leonie with a disinterested shrug. "Someone is always complaining about something. Probably just…a small product glitch. Someone once sued us because their dog ate one of our adhesives and died. Honestly! What do people think is going to happen if they allow their pets and children around those things? Am I right?"

"Uh…yeah," he replied, flipping through the forms. "I don't know if I have time to read all this." He looked up. The secretary was smiling widely at him, although he couldn't tell if she was inwardly laughing or just being friendly.

Leonie rubbed the side of her head, as though she were developing a migraine. "No one actually reads it, dear. Too much jargon. Just…sign." Her gaze intensified. "And then we'll go down to the police station and see if they've found any new evidence on Christine. Maybe they found something in the tunnels. How's that?"

Raoul blinked, taking her words in. _Christine!_ He quickly nodded and put his name on the document, before handing it back to the secretary. She took it and rushed off as fast as her high heels would carry her, her shoulders shaking with giggles. He didn't care. "Let's go!"

Leonie smiled and led him to the elevator.

* * *

_Ten days later… _

Nadir sighed and stared down at the map that Erik had prepared, his eyes trailing over the twisting and turning roads that led out of London. They had determined that it would be impossible to sneak away by boat unless they went individually. Still, that posed too many risks. They would be forced to stay within the country until enough time had passed to make a quick escape. Erik had decided to go north for now.

In that last week, day and night had lost their meaning. Sometimes they would stay awake from midnight to one in the afternoon and then sleep until nine in the evening. Erik immediately began preparations to leave, going out after sunset to determine modes of transportation and future locations. Christine would stay up late waiting for him to return, one eye on a book and another on the door. Nadir would occasionally tell her stories of India, most of them humorous or lighthearted. He didn't want to disturb her with the details of Erik's arrest until they were under calmer conditions.

On one occasion, Erik didn't make it back before sunrise, and Nadir could only watch as Christine huddled beneath a blanket with a panicked expression. "I am sure he is fine," he had gently reassured her. She merely nodded. When Erik did return the following night, claiming to have been stuck beneath a bridge when morning broke, Christine jumped up from the couch and embraced him.

"You need not worry on my account," Erik told her, letting a bony hand glide over her hair. Still, there was delight in his eyes, and Nadir finally began to understand that there was no point in stopping this. Besides the fact that Erik would kill him if he attempted to intervene, a part of him no longer wanted to destroy it. The entire thing was both disturbing and beautiful.

For the most part, Christine managed to remain calm. Only an occasional frown betrayed her worry and uncertainty. She once expressed distress upon seeing a newspaper with an article about her disappearance. "I just wish there was a way to let Raoul know that I'm okay," she murmured. Erik had been gone at the time. "A letter? Anything…"

Nadir had sighed. "I fear that it would be intercepted before it got to him. I am sorry, Christine. Your friend is surrounded by some horrible people."

She nodded. "Maybe someday everything can be made right again. After this all calms down and the police go away."

"Maybe," he had replied, allowing the room to drift back into silence.

Two days ago, Erik had walked in carrying something beneath his arm that was wrapped in a sheet. "I believe I am nearly ready to depart," he stated, pulling back the white material.

"Oh!" Christine gasped. "A violin."

"My violin!"

"The one you had before?" she asked. He nodded once, and her eyes widened. "How did you get it back?"

"That is Erik's secret," he stated, eyes glimmering. "But it is in my hands now, and no one will ever touch it again. And now we have all we need!"

And so with the infamous musical instrument back in their possession, they prepared to leave. Erik had managed to obtain a brand new dark-blue _Ford_, along with several containers of fuel to avoid stopping often. If they were pulled over by the authorities, it was understood that he and Erik would disappear while Christine remained in the vehicle. Erik had fretted but decided that going to the trouble of retrieving her again was more desirable than the risk of her getting shot. "I will always find you," he had told her when she had started to protest the plan. "No matter where you are." Nadir found the statement somewhat eerie, but Ms. Daae just gave Erik a quick kiss on the jaw.

That night, ten days after he had made the decision to leave, Erik had swiftly entered the room, eyes aglow with determination. "We must go now," he whispered. "I have created a diversion toward the south. They will think that we are attempting to get to the ports." He chuckled.

Nadir swallowed. "Did you…were you forced to take any lives?"

"No, my curious friend. Only one guard is unconscious, and he will have a fine story of strangulation to tell. The rest are merely scared out of their minds."

"Excellent," muttered Nadir with a short laugh. He thought that Erik was grinning beneath the mask.

Two hours later, Mr. Khan found himself at the steering wheel, staring down at the confusing map. If he made a wrong turn, though, the act might doom them all. Two doors shut behind him, and he knew that everyone and all desired possessions were inside the vehicle. "Are you ready?" asked Nadir, his voice just above a whisper. He stared down the dark and vacant streets of an alley, before turning up the heat slightly.

"We are," Erik replied. Nadir looked at Christine through the rearview mirror, and she silently nodded. The girl appeared uncertain but smiled a little as she met the gaze of his reflection. Nadir nodded back and began to drive forward, all the while holding his breath. His heartbeat quickened as he came closer to several cars, but then he realized that other vehicles might make them less conspicuous.

The three of them sat in silence for some time. Only when they passed through central London did Erik softly speak. "There is the clock tower," he whispered, pointing to the left. The face of the clock was lit up to a yellow glow, casting the structure in shadows.

Christine leaned to the side and looked out. "Oh! I think that's the only attraction I've seen since I've been here." Erik softly chuckled.

Nadir had the slight urge to drop Christine off on a street corner where she would be safe. Anywhere was safer than right here…driving into oblivion with a tired, old man and a murderer. Still, he continued forward, nervously weaving his way through traffic at the exact speed limit. Once the roads became less congested, Nadir glanced back again to see that Christine was resting her head against her companion's arm. Erik appeared to be enraptured.

Nadir sighed and drove onwards, subconsciously attempting to identify the tune that Erik was humming under his breath.

* * *

The thrill of victory spread through Frederick Oliver's veins as he stared out the semi-circular window of his private jet. He stretched his legs out in the spacious area and relaxed back into the seat, feeling exhilarated. After everything, he had survived. Of course, he'd never gotten to see the monster captured and slaughtered, but it was no great matter. Frankly, vendettas were dull and irritating. He'd rather be lying on a warm beach with Emily than plotting ways to defeat the creature. 

Of course, there was always still the chance that his life was in danger, but that's what bodyguards were for. The police were also searching, and Frederick had continuously waited for someone to call him with good news. None had come, though, save for some unconfirmed reports several days ago of a strange disturbance on the southern edge of London. Maybe the monster would finally be satisfied with the girl at his disposal. Frederick shuddered and then chuckled, folding his hands together on top of his stomach.

He could hear Carlotta, Beverly, and Emily talking and laughing in the back compartment of the plane. He was rather glad that they had each other; their companionship kept them out of his hair.

"And here's a picture of my autumn debut. Isn't the costume fabulous?"

"Oh, yes!" exclaimed Emily. "You look beautiful, Ms. Glouer."

"Those were such simpler times," mourned Carlotta. "Everything seemed so much brighter."

"I know, sweetheart," replied her mother. "But that's why we're going on this vacation. To help you heal."

"But someday I'd like to be on stage again! I can't leave it forever! It's my calling!"

"We'll see," said Beverly. His sister had never been thrilled with the publicity that surrounded her daughter.

"Thomas said he'd come visit me. He's such a dear. He said he never stopped searching for me."

"He isn't good enough for you," replied Beverly.

"Oh, mother," Carlotta muttered. "Don't start this."

Frederick yawned and smiled to himself, feeling like the king of his castle. He stared out the window at the glossy blue ocean that was sparkling under the morning sun's rays. A strange feeling suddenly overtook him. For a few seconds, he forgot where he was. He forgot who was with him and what he was doing there. His mind went blank, and there was nothing but the endless stretch of water below.

"Frederick? Are you all right?"

He heard a vaguely familiar voice and squinted upwards. Oliver blinked as his memory returned and blamed the incident on stress. "Oh. Perfectly fine, Beverly. Just resting."

"I see," she replied, taking a seat across from him and pulling out a book. "You had an odd look on your face." He shrugged, and she let it go. "Well…I'm thankful we had good weather for flying. It would have been horrible to stay in London any longer."

"Agreed," he replied. Oliver looked back out the window, dreaming of retirement. Maybe he would have a glass of wine later to celebrate the occasion.

Yes. Life was good.


	50. Part 4: The Honeymoon Period

Hey guys. I thought I'd go ahead and begin the fourth part, although updates might remain slow for a little while. There will be no jumps in time at the beginning, but time may pass a little more quickly throughout the next few chapters. Thank you again for all your encouragement. I hope you continue to read.

**Read and Review!!!**

He hadn't checked the news in two weeks!

Gavin blinked once at this realization and then inwardly laughed at himself. Marriage was already taking its toll on him. Ever since he was in high school, he'd made it a priority to keep himself updated on the world's affairs. Here he was, nearing the last days of his honeymoon, and he had no idea what was going on out there. For all he knew, a nuclear war had decimated everything but Aruba.

Life on the island was isolating, though, to the point where one blissfully forgot about the rest of the world. Their hotel was on a stretch of white sandy beaches along the Caribbean Sea. He had to admit that it was nice to clear his head for awhile and get away from school and work. He'd spent his days on cruises, island tours, and just lying on the beach in the ninety-degree winter weather. Not to mention the fact that his beautiful new bride kept him fairly busy. They were going to dinner and dancing that evening at some seafood restaurant. He didn't exactly have a lot of grace, but Marisol was determined to get him out on the dance floor for a few hours, and he wasn't one to argue with her.

By the time she had stepped out of the shower, he was already dressed and ready to go. Gavin heard the blow dryer turn on in the bathroom. Spotting the remote control, he decided that no harm would come from flipping to the news and taking a quick check of affairs. He reclined back against the headboard and listened for about fifteen minutes, noting nothing new for the most part. The world hadn't ended, at least. He started to flip to the weather, hoping they would have no problems flying back to the city. The last thing he needed was to miss his interview with the _Boston Herald_. The internship might just lead to a distinguished job.

"Now for our continuing coverage of the news coming out of London," stated the anchorwoman, just as he put his finger over the channel-changer. "According to recent reports, police have made little to no progress in the search for Christine Daae. Some items of interest were found after a long search through the city's subway tunnel system, but authorities have not yet revealed whether they are connected to the young girl's disappearance. There is also no information on whether these events are tied to Ms. Daae's kidnapping last spring. You may remember…"

"Ready!" The door to the bathroom flew open, sending in a gust of warm mist. "How do I…?" Marisol looked down at him as he gaped at the television screen. "Gavin? What's wrong?"

He barely heard her. A blond guy whom he recognized to be Christine's ex-fiancé was now speaking. "We're putting all our efforts into finding her," Raoul stated, appearing extremely disheveled. "We're begging anyone with information to call and help us. Help us bring Christine back home. Please."

"Gavin? What's wrong?" his wife repeated. Gavin finally glanced up to see her standing in a v-necked lavender evening gown with her thick brunette curls twisted into a rolled-up braid. Had he not been in a state of shock, he would have given her a compliment.

"Christine Daae-that girl I knew back in Boston-disappeared in London," he finally managed to say. "The police are looking for her."

"The same girl?" she asked in disbelief, turning to look at the screen. "The one that was kidnapped last year?"

"Yeah…It doesn't even make any sense." Gavin released a frustrated sigh and gestured toward the television set. "I told her to be careful! What the heck was she thinking going there?"

Marisol was looking back and forth between him and the screen. "Well…maybe she's fine," his wife finally stated, laying a slender hand on his shoulder. "Maybe they'll find her."

Gavin shook his head. "If she even wants to be found…"

"What?"

"I don't know," he replied. "She was…You know what? I had no idea what was on her mind half the time. But she always acted like she'd rather be somewhere else…like she was missing something."

"Hmm." They watched the television for a few more moments. Apparently, Carlotta Glouer had been found alive over the last few weeks. He was never again going to go a day without checking the news. _Ever._ "Well, I feel sorry for her," finally said his wife, trying to break the silence. "Kidnapped twice? That's crazy…"

_Maybe she wasn't kidnapped. _He started to say that. But then what the heck did he know? He liked Christine Daae; she was probably one of the nicer people he had encountered in his lifetime. At the same time, he'd nearly gotten a migraine trying to read what was on her mind. The first time he'd met her, years ago, she'd seemed normal enough. She had a few insecurities back then, but who didn't? The second time, though, she had completely mystified him. All of her comments were indirect and enigmatic, and she would never tell him what exactly she was searching for. Worry over a good friend competed with general curiosity. Where in God's name was she?

"Well, I'm sorry, Gavin," his wife continued. "It's very sad. But you can't blame yourself…"

"I know. I'm just shocked. That's all."

"I know," she softly replied, smoothing out her dress. She bit her lip and took a few steps backward. "We can cancel tonight, if you want…"

Gavin cringed, realizing he'd put a damper on a fun evening. The honeymoon was almost over, and his wife looked gorgeous with her darker complexion and slim figure. If she'd wanted, Marisol could have gone by herself and picked up ten dance partners by the end of the night, all of them in a heck of a lot better shape than he was. Taking a breath, he switched off the television and jumped up. "No! We're not canceling! Let's go! We'll have the entire night to stay here, right?" He attempted to force all unpleasant thoughts away for now, including the ones of Christine lying dead in a gutter somewhere. Maybe when he got back to the city he could check up on things. There was nothing he could do now.

Marisol's face brightened, and she gave him a wide smile. "We'll go cheer you up. We'll have you dancing in no time!"

He grabbed his wallet off the dresser and led her out the door of the hotel room. The carpeted hallways were empty, softly illuminated by the glow of lamps along the wall. "Hope you don't mind your feet getting stepped on," he replied, leaning down to press his lips to hers. Her eyes were sparkling, and her skin was warm; he nearly didn't want to leave the room anymore.

"Well, you can massage them for me later. How's that?" Marisol wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him again, before racing down the hallway and toward the elevator with a laugh.

"Can I now?" He took off after her, feeling somewhat lighthearted again. All he could do was pray that a funeral wouldn't accompany his wedding this year.

* * *

There was rarely a more splendid moment than to glance down and see Christine sleeping with her head tilted against his arm. The sensation was heavenly, but, more importantly, the act signified that she did not fear him. As Nadir continued the drive north, he nearly fell into a hazy white bliss. Only his need to stay on watch for intruders kept him alert; never had he been more desperate to stay alive. 

On the evening that Christine had made her three-word confession, he had gone out in search of the darkest possible corner in London. And then he had leaned against a cold brick wall, ripped off the mask, and soundly wept into his bare hands. Had anyone wanted to catch him off guard and shoot him, it would have been the ideal opportunity. Only the shadows kept him safe.

The reality of his situation had become clear, and he was nearly unable to breathe. For the first time in his life, he had something to lose. He truly _had_ her. And even if she never said those words to him again, she had said them once. An ache had consumed his chest as his mind battled with itself. The decision was obvious, but he didn't want to face it.

How could he possibly abandon his revenge…his sole purpose for existence? Everything he had worked for in those last years would become meaningless. From the pain of the thousands of volts of electricity that had been shot into his muscles when he attempted to escape his tormentors…to the sadistic joy that came from the dozens of strangled bodies he had left in his wake…to the shackles and the blood and the tormented screams. Death and suffering made up the core of his life, and he had learned to thrive and thrive well on his own misery.

Now, though, there was simply her. Something good and untainted had entered his sorry excuse for a life, something that nearly made his entire existence worth all the horror. He knew that the longer he attempted to get revenge, the greater the chance would be of losing her. And he had her right now! He could return to the building, and she would come to him with a smile and a warm embrace. Even if his attempt at murdering Oliver was successful, he would still only want her afterwards. But then she might be gone.

That evening, he had somehow made the decision to let it all go. Oh, he could never forget. No. It would still eat at his mind if he allowed it to do so. It would always be there. But he could physically let Oliver go. He could do that.

He had abandoned the dark corner to fetch her a ring; he needed something tangible to signify her decision. He would ask her to leave with him, to hide with him and their music…to be his. He knew that he would die at her feet if she said no, put perhaps that was the best place to die, anyway.

But she had said yes, and he hadn't died! And now she was here with him, sitting beside him as they drove through the night, past darkened houses and empty fields. He had spent the last week with the sole goal of getting them out of London, his mind focused on a new mission, one that didn't end in death. Life hummed in his veins.

"I think I need a brief rest," whispered Nadir from the front. "My eyes are tired."

He glanced up. "We are nearing our destination. It has been almost three hours, no? Find a place that is hidden, and you may stop for a short while."

Nadir nodded. After driving for approximately ten more minutes, he came to a side road and turned right. The area was partially hidden by trees, perhaps part of one of the community forests of Greater Manchester. With a deep yawn, Nadir pulled over to the side and parked. The headlights of several other vehicles passed on by, but none of the passengers seemed to notice them. He glanced around to ensure that there were no intruders.

Christine stirred beside him and sat up straight, looking around and blinking in obvious confusion. He feared that she would be upset by her surroundings and did not know whether touching her would ease or exacerbate her fright. "Christine…" He softly spoke her name.

She looked up at him. "Erik? Where are we?"

"We are in North West England, many miles from London now. We should be safe."

She nodded and glanced out the window. Did she regret her decision_? No. He could not turn back now…not back to that… _"Can I get out for a moment? I just need some air." Indeed, her face was slightly green.

"Of course." He opened his door and stepped outside. She followed behind him, momentarily closing her eyes as a cold breeze brushed against her damp forehead. The only sounds were the occasional rustlings of dead leaves and the hum of distant traffic. After walking forward for a short distance to stretch her legs, she stopped to stare into the voids between the bare trees. His angel didn't know that the most terrifying thing in the forest was standing behind her, and he dearly loved her for that. He placed a hand upon her shoulder, and she turned around. "We will find a more permanent place," he assured her. "Someplace warm and comfortable for you." She nodded and walked back to stand beside him, her expression slightly calmer. Color returned to her cheeks.

Nadir stepped out of the car and stretched his arms above his head. They silently stood there, breathing in the damp air. That vague peace momentarily returned to him. The dark isolation was perfection, really.

Of course, such things can never last long.

The sound of voices drifted over from the distance, and his hand reflexively flinched toward the knotted weapon in his suit. "Stay still," he hissed. His companions obeyed, their eyes searching for the source of the noise. A group of five adolescents, perhaps a few years younger than Christine, soon passed by on a nearby trail. The three females and two males were conversing and laughing, all bundled in sweatshirts and carrying duffel bags. Some appeared to be slightly intoxicated. His muscles relaxed as he realized there was no imminent threat.

Christine silently watched them, and he could not read her eyes. He wished the rest of the world would disappear and not draw her attention away…not tempt her. _He_ needed her. The rest of the world did not need her, could not love her as he did. Still, he feared that she would yearn for more. "Perhaps you should return to the vehicle," he gently told her, once the crowd had passed. "It is too cold for you. I will check the area, and then we will go."

"All right, Erik," she replied. Pursing her lips together, she climbed into the vehicle. He sighed and stared into the distance.

"Where exactly are you planning on going, Erik?" asked Nadir, leaning against the hood of the car. He had felt his comrade watching them the entire time.

"There are rental properties on the outskirts of the city," he replied. "Although I would prefer complete isolation, it would be impossible to get adequate supplies without being noticed. We will be near Manchester but remain on the outsides. With some…manipulation, I believe we can dwell in rental property with little problem."

"Illegally, I assume?"

He sneered. "No, Nadir. I am going to sit around a table and negotiate prices. That has always worked so well for me, hasn't it? Would that make you happy, Nadir?"

"Forgive me," his comrade stated, looking at the ground. "Of course there would be no other way. We are no longer real members of society."

"You have never questioned me on such matters before. Something so tedious as housing…"

"I suppose it just feels different now…" Nadir replied. "As though we should be more legitimate with her here."

He glared, disliking the continuous strings of judgments. He could feel Nadir's disapproving gaze and the words that it held. _You are not good enough for her._ "If you attempt to interfere with her, I will destroy you."

"I know."

"Give me the map," he ordered. Nadir handed the folded piece of paper to him, and he studied it for a moment. He had researched several recently vacated locations. It would be a matter of making the owners of the property believe that the original tenants had changed their minds and not left. Then, they would not attempt to find another renter and would simply accept incoming payments without question. In an even more convenient scenario, someone would vacate their property while they left the area only for the winter. No matter what happened, it would all be a matter of keeping themselves unseen, either by staying isolated or hiding within the crowds. He folded the map and returned it to Nadir. "We will go now and find someplace to hide for the daytime hours. It may not be entirely comfortable, but it is necessary for now. Let us hope that it remains overcast." He was rather fond of the weather within the country. Daylight did not burn him as often.

Without another word, he opened the door and climbed inside. Christine looked at him and smiled, and he nodded once. He could still see worry in her expression, her furrowed brow and nervous eyes. He dreaded her unhappiness; he didn't think he could stop this even if she were unhappy. Like a voracious parasite, he was living off of her.

Christine stayed on the opposite side of the seat for some time as Nadir drove forward again, staring out her window. He leaned back and attempted to clear his mind. At some point, he felt her take his hand again, and he gratefully entwined their fingers together. She was studying him, her head tilted to the side and a strand of hair falling into her face. "Erik loves you," he couldn't help but whisper, placing his voice right beside her ear. He was fearful of looking at her. When he did, he was surprised to see another smile. She had not rejected _Erik_. No.

She scooted closer again and whispered back similar words. Her hand came to the side of his head, far too close to his mask, and he gently clasped her wrist and moved it away. Her hand fell upon his shoulder instead. He undeniably ached to press his lips against her skin but was aware that could never be; his mouth was as malformed as the rest of him. Perhaps if they were ever in complete darkness…but even then she would be able to feel the twisted catastrophe. He forced those thoughts away before he panicked. "I will play the violin for you when we stop…if no one is around," he stated, looking down at her.

She didn't answer, placing a kiss on his exposed jaw instead and leaning back against him with a sigh. A few minutes later, she asked for water, and he retrieved a bottle. After taking several sips and replacing the cap, she resettled her head on his arm. Euphoria and terror fought with each other as he rested his masked cheek against her hair. He could not ever lose her and _this_. He would have to shield her from all light's temptations if it came to that, but he would not let her go.

He could see that Nadir was still watching him through the mirror.

Death to any soul who tried to take her away.

* * *

A few days ago, he had been placed amongst some of the other prisoners. Darius didn't know why this had happened. He really didn't know anything anymore. For the last three months or so, he'd been kept in complete isolation, only taken out for short rounds of questioning by intimidating men in expensive dark suits. 

It was all his own fault, he knew. The arrests were made and the plans were ruined because of his stupidity. It would have been better if he'd never agreed to come on the mission...if he'd never accepted the masked man's offer of vengeance.

His family had moved to southern France when he was very young. Soon after, his mother and older sister had died of a rare form of ovarian cancer. The tragedies had driven his father to alcoholism, and though he never became abusive, there was never any food on the table, either. He and his two brothers could only watch as their household was broken into tiny fragments.

After learning the likely cause of it all some years later, he'd felt the need for revenge. He'd been young and with no set purpose in life, no real job or education. As a result, he'd followed the masked man into his doom, all the while searching for some sort of higher purpose. The masked man had never liked him…had referred to him as an incompetent idiot on more than one occasion. And maybe he _was_ an idiot for winding up in this situation. His life was meaningless, and he knew that he was not valued enough to be rescued. Or maybe all of the members of his group were dead or captured by now.

He continued to wait for trial or release. Or maybe he would just wait there forever.

On the evening of the third day that he was housed with the other inmates, during recreational time, he heard a noise on his left and watched as several men began to shove each other. One prisoner threw a punch, and then another man slammed him into the wall. More inmates began to join in, and he attempted to remain unnoticed, knowing that his build was too small for him to defend himself. Besides, there was something not right about the fight. It almost seemed artificial, if that were possible.

Guards began to run forward with the intent of breaking up the scuffle. A few drew their guns. It was at that moment, within the chaos, that a man broke through the crowd and randomly charged at him. Darius was sure that he had never spoken to the stocky, bearded inmate before…had never given the man reason to hold a grudge against him. Glancing down, he saw that the inmate was holding a sharp, silver knife in his hand.

Darius backed up into the wall, unable to run anywhere else. He raised up his hands in self-defense, hoping that one of the guards would get to him before it was too late. "Please!" he yelled in his native tongue. "Please don't!" The man continued to race forward. His grim expression was more determined than angry, as if he were on a mission. And Darius knew that he was going to die.

As shouts rang out into the area and something metal crashed to the cold tiles, he was vaguely aware of a burning pain first in his stomach and then in his chest and shoulder. He crumpled to the floor on his hands and knees as his body throbbed in agony, watching the small crimson droplets quickly become a torrent of blood. He sputtered out the metallic-tasting liquid as the dismal colors swirled together and a shadow fell over him. The lights flickered, and the shouts became fainter. The pain faded away to a strange numbness. No one ever came to help him.

He was merely another rodent that had been crushed by the talons of _Falcon_.


	51. Sanctuary

Sorry for the late update. While writing this story, I had a bit of inspiration for a little one-shot called "Eight Legs of Love." The idea was originally going to be incorporated into this story, but I thought that it stood better on its own. Anyway, it's a very short humor phic if you want to check it out. A big thanks to those who have already reviewed!

The next few chapters aren't action-packed. I've found that while some character-development takes place in tense and dire situations, other changes have to occur in calmer settings. Hopefully, you'll still find the chapters interesting…and maybe a bit romantic now and then ;)

**Read and Review!!!**

Erik would occasionally ask her if she was frightened, his voice nearly a whisper. Christine always told him that she wasn't. That wasn't the complete truth, but she took his question to mean: _Are you frightened of me?_ And she wasn't. Even when she had first encountered Erik all those months ago, when his eyes had flashed with a primal insanity that had caused her to question whether he was human…even then, he had not been able to hurt her. What she feared was the uncertainty of all this. She was afraid of seeing Erik get hurt or captured. The thought of hiding forever was also somewhat disturbing…of fading into nonexistence.

It wasn't as though she was leaving a wonderful life behind her. Had she parents or close relatives alive, she might have hesitated. There was college, but, in some ways, returning to her music studies had been her sole way of connecting to Erik. Of course, she wanted an education someday, but it had become a lower priority. She wanted to be with Erik now, even if that meant disappearing for awhile.

She saw streetlights in the distance as they drove forward, along with the dark outlines of a few looming structures. The glowing green clock in the car said that it was nearing two in the morning. She yawned and felt Erik gently run his fingers through her hair. "We will stop soon," he stated. "I will seek a permanent location tonight. If I fail to find one, we will have to hide somewhere until this evening." Nadir drove until Erik told him to pull over at some sort of factory or industrial complex. Giant metallic cylindrical containers stuck out of the sides, smokestacks rose from the top, and three large funnels were centered at the corners. The silver building glinted when the moon momentarily revealed itself from behind the clouds. Nadir finally stopped behind it, around an area where trucks likely unloaded the supplies.

Nadir peered over at a sign, squinting his eyes and then drawing back in surprise. "But this is-"

"Yes," replied Erik with an eerie calmness. "And do they not owe us a bit of sanctuary after everything? The least they could do for us, no?" Nadir didn't answer, and Erik opened his door. "I will return soon, after I inspect a piece of property that is a short distance from here. Attempt to flee if anyone comes. And Christine." She looked up at him, her heart skipping a beat. "If the situation becomes dire, let the authorities see who you are. They will not harm you once they know. And I will always manage to find you." He stared at her a moment longer, before turning to leave.

"Be careful," she murmured. Erik nodded once and disappeared. She and Nadir sat there in silence, staring out the windows at the ugly building. "What is this place?" she asked, recalling the conversation.

"One of _Falcon's_ plants."

Her nose wrinkled in distaste. "Oh." She leaned back into the seat, tired but unable to sleep. Unrest plagued her, and she continuously shifted positions, feeling a dull ache in her legs from riding for so long. "Nadir? Can you tell me more of the story now?"

He glanced back at her. "Are you sure you would not rather wait until we find shelter?"

"Yes. I'd just like to know as much as I can, especially while Erik's gone. He gets upset when we talk about it." Nadir slowly nodded, encouraging her to continue. "Why did you leave India? What happened there?"

"All right," he replied after a brief hesitation. "Well, India…nothing dramatic ever occurred. I've told you some of the stories. Erik received most of his education, self-teaching himself through textbooks. He learned to read and write in several different languages. That was where he quickly picked up the violin from one of the tenants in our apartment. I tried to show him some of the sights in the country and broaden his horizons." He paused. "Erik might enjoy telling you some of these things."

"He did a little in November," she replied. "I just don't understand why you went back to France after all that. Did people treat him badly in India?"

"It varied. Some people were perfectly understanding of a young boy in a mask. Some just shunned him. He got into a couple of fights with other boys around his own age. There was one incident…" Nadir sighed and shook his head. "I had nearly forgotten it."

"What?"

"Even at a young age, Erik connected to people by entertaining them. If he could make them laugh or amaze them, then he would receive positive attention…or at least not negative attention. He got very good at magic tricks and illusions. As you've likely noticed, he has stunningly fast reflexes." Christine nodded and leaned forward. "He must have been around fifteen or sixteen," Nadir continued. "He was entertaining some of the other younger people at our apartment with his magic. Most of them were foreigners, there with their parents for missionary work or bringing industry to the country. Anyway, he was up and performing some of his tricks for them one summer afternoon. It was a cure from boredom, no doubt."

"He had friends?"

"Friends isn't the right word. Disfigurement aside, Erik was always much more intelligent than his peers. I doubt that any of them even understood him. They were at best fascinated with him."

"I see." She felt a twinge of pity and attempted to force it away.

"Anyhow, according to Erik, one of the tricks called for two assistants. He chose a pair of siblings from the United States. The girl was nice enough, or at least Erik spoke fondly of her. Her brother could be a bit of an annoyance sometimes, but he wasn't necessarily malicious. I forget the details of the trick, but that damned boy somehow got up there and tore Erik's mask off in front of the other children. His twelve-year-old sister fainted right there on the spot."

Christine gasped. "What did Erik do?"

"By the time that an adult arrived, Erik had bloodied the boy up nicely… broken a few bones. I do not remember there being any permanent damage to him, though. Still, we were forced to leave the apartment complex. The other children were traumatized, and their parents were threatening to go somewhere else if we didn't. The sister of the boy was waking up screaming from nightmares. I could hear her through the walls!"

"That's terrible," she whispered.

"Once we had left the place, Erik never performed anymore. He stayed with his books and music most of the time, only speaking to those adults that were respectful of him. As technology entered the area, he toyed with electronics occasionally. Other adolescents would still pick fights with him sometimes. And some of the people there were horrible influences…on a dozen different kinds of drugs and into all kinds of illegal activity. Erik wanted to get away and get into a university at one point, but he had never had a formal education. After seeing his test scores, one school brought him in for an interview, but…"

"They rejected him," she murmured.

"Yes. They decided _not_ to make an exception. And after all that, Erik expressed a desire to return to Europe. He said that he wanted to just be left alone…to just get away from the rest of the world. At first, I resisted the idea. I even went so far as to look at the latest reconstructive surgery techniques, thinking that might be the only thing that could help him. His face was so completely damaged, though, that it would have taken more money than I'd have in a lifetime. And the procedures were not as good as they are now."

"And it would have been so painful," she softly replied. "Years and years of surgeries…"

Nadir paused, before slowly nodding. "True. But if it could have stopped everything that happened in the years afterward, the pain might have been worth it to him. As I said, though, I didn't have enough money. At Erik's request, I finally checked back into affairs in France. I discovered that several lawsuits had been brought against _Falcon_. All of them had been lost except for several pending ones. I thought it might be our chance to finally find justice. I mean…how could anyone deny that something not of nature had happened to Erik? The closest I'd ever seen to his deformity were on the severest of burn victims."

"But they tried to kill you! Weren't you afraid they'd go after you again?"

"I guess we should have been," he replied. "I thought maybe conditions had become more civilized with the lawsuits. And that damned company owed us!" She could see him glare through the mirror. "Not that monetary damages were enough to fix everything, but…at least it was something. I told Erik, and he agreed to go back and try. He thought that, given a large enough settlement, he might be able to buy a large tract of land and just isolate himself."

"I've lost track of the dates," she stated. "When was all this happening?"

"Let's see. Erik was around twenty, so it would have been the early nineties."

Christine looked down. "That's when Raoul and I were in elementary school together. I remember him complaining that his dad was always too busy. I guess Louis was busy…" She paused and counted on her fingers. "He's younger…" she murmured.

"What?"

"Erik is younger than I first thought. He still has half his life left. Maybe more…" The thought was soothing in some strange way; Erik's entire life was not lost to him.

"Perhaps," Nadir wearily replied. He rubbed the bridge of his nose. "I will finish the story another night. I'm a bit tired now, thinking of all that. I often blame myself for ever agreeing to return to France. I should have known better."

"You couldn't have known, Nadir. It was too horrible."

Another long silence passed until Nadir broke it, his voice now cautious. "Christine. I know that you come from a society where people constantly change their minds…where divorce and affairs are all too common."

She glanced up. "Well…I guess so…"

"You are very young," he continued. "And it is not fair that you must understand this right now, but, for the sake of everyone, it is best that you do." He cleared his throat. "You cannot just wake up and change your mind about Erik as you might be able to do with another man. You cannot-how do you say? - 'break up' with him. He would not understand."

"I know that," she replied, her voice becoming shrill. "I mean, I would never do that to him!"

"How do you know what you want?" he softly asked. "You are so damn young."

She was silent for a moment. "All I can do is stay here with him. I love him…maybe more than I've loved anyone in certain ways. That's all I can say right now."

"You are right," he replied with a sigh. "You cannot know what will happen in five or ten years. I just worry that you will find yourself trapped someday. And I do not want to see him suffer anymore, either."

"He won't," she whispered, folding her arms against her chest. "Or at least not because of me. I want to be here, Nadir. I'm not trapped."

"You will tell me if you ever need help?"

"Yes," she replied. "You understand him better than I do sometimes. But I want to be with him. I'm trying to understand…"

"Yes," he softly agreed, nodding his head and draping his arms over the steering wheel. "You are."

* * *

Leonie sat up cross-legged on the bed of her hotel suite, wrapping her velvet robe around her torso and eagerly watching as Raoul appeared on television. She hadn't seen the latest interview yet. Because this one was likely reaching international televisions, his portrayal was extremely important. 

As she expected, he pled for Christine's return for several minutes, giving telephone numbers that people could call with information. The wind blew a few strands of golden hair into his eyes, and the cold reddened his boyish face. Leonie thought that it made him all the more endearing.

"Ms. Daae is your fiancée?" questioned one of the reporters half-way into the interview.

Raoul hesitated, and Leonie pursed her lips. "No," he finally said, not looking directly into the camera. "She is…a very good friend. And I love her very much."

Leonie smiled. It was perfect. He was handsome, adorable, sad, and obviously on the rebound. The women would love him; no one would believe him guilty of so much as stepping on an ant. She broke off a square of Swiss chocolate and munched on it, adding an extra dose of sugar to her good mood. On the screen, Raoul continued to answer a few more questions concerning what the police had found. When they had discovered the shredded white dress in the tunnels, the poor boy had nearly fallen over. She had been forced to suppress a laugh at the time; it was simply all too funny.

She still wasn't sure whether Christine had left of her own free will, but the girl certainly hadn't put up a fight. Leonie had her odd fetishes when it came to men, but she'd never imagined that anyone could desire such a physically and mentally distorted creature. Ah well. It didn't really matter. If the monster and the girl disappeared forever, it was all the better for her. She was only concerned with Raoul now, especially since the other prisoner was no longer a threat to the company. She had seen to that.

There were two knocks at the door of her room, and she glanced up with no surprise. She was just glad that Darrel had come early, as she wanted to take a hot bath before it became too late. Turning off the television, Leonie glanced through the peephole and answered the door.

It had been several years since they'd seen each other, and his fifty years were more evident on his wrinkled face. Smoking hadn't done much for his complexion, either. His shoulder-length curly brown hair was tied into a ponytail, and she could see slight streaks of grey. Despite his occasional crudeness, she'd taken a liking to him years ago in France. He was very dependable. "Leonie! How are you?" he asked with a slight accent. He reached out his arms for a bear-hug.

"I am excellent, actually," she replied, tentatively embracing him. "I should have known you'd come early." As with Freddie, she didn't have to put on a gentler façade when it came to Darrel. Her voice practically dripped with sugar when she was speaking to Raoul, and the act was beginning to give her a headache. "Something to drink?"

"No. I'm fine, angel. I've got to drive, you know. "

"Coffee, then?"

"Nah. Nothing. I'm good." She could see that his broad shoulders were a bit tense. He had also been cockier than this when they spoke on the phone. _Are you hiding something from me?_

"Well, then," she stated, taking a seat at the desk. "How did everything go?"

"It went well," he replied, sitting across from her.

She eyed him closely. "Did it now?"

"Yes. Well, except for one small issue. There were some communication problems. Some people who weren't supposed to be at the prison that day were on duty. The guy who completed the job is still locked up. We meant to get him out right away, but there were some unwanted witnesses to the crime."

Her jaw clenched. "He's not going to tell them anything, is he?"

"No," Darrel quickly assured her. "He knows he'll be paid well if he remains quiet. He's a good man."

She bit her lip, her good mood of earlier quickly fading. "The last time someone fouled up something similar to this, it nearly killed all of us."

"Nothing is fouled up. It's just a tiny glitch. We have plenty of back up plans. Don't worry. I would never let you down, Leonie." She sighed in discontent, a frown darkening her face. "How are things going with the blonde girl?" he asked, attempting to change the subject. "Any news?"

"Not that I know of," she replied. "I don't really keep up on all the details."

"Anything else I can do?"

"Actually, yes," she stated, tapping her nails on the table. "Why don't you take Raoul out some weekend night and show him the city. You know plenty of women. Introduce him to some of those in the upper class. I'm sure you can find someone with royal blood."

He frowned. "Isn't he still hung up on that girl?"

"Yes. And in time, I'd like him to forget her."

"All right," he muttered. "Fine. I'll take him out."

"And be nice to him, for God's sake."

"I'm nice to everyone."

"Mm."

He gave a deep-throated laughed, and she found the sound slightly annoying. Darrel cleared his throat. "I was wondering if I could get paid. Times have been a little tough."

"I'll have ten thousand pounds in your account by tomorrow afternoon. You can have the rest after I'm certain that this isn't going to fall apart in my face. I really don't need this, you know? I'm still cleaning up Oliver's mess. Understand?"

"Completely," he replied. "You're not going to need any other…jobs like this soon, are you? It's very difficult to set up."

Leonie laughed. "Honestly, darling, you act like I'm a crazed crime boss. I do things like this as little as possible, and you know it. And I do it only for the greater good of industry and innovation. And if a few problems have to be taken care of along the way, it's sad but necessary." He squinted in confusion. She shook her head and quickly stood up. "You can go now. Keep me updated."

Darrel rose to his feet. "I will. Don't worry about anything. It's all fine."

"I'm sure that it is."

"Good talking to you, Leonie."

"And you."

He quickly left and closed the door behind him. Leonie took a moment to compose herself, knowing that she would have to keep a close watch of the situation. Other than this little irritating problem, it would all just be a matter of routine paperwork. There were a few lawsuits that needed to be managed. Maybe she would have Raoul face the media and give the company some good press.

Ideally, Raoul would soon find a lovely young wife and have a couple of gorgeous children. Then, he would be in Louis' position. Once Raoul owned the world, he certainly wouldn't want to let go of it. Men are possessive beings, and she had often used that flaw to her benefit. Still, she preferred the young man to continue worrying about Christine for the time being. She needed to get Raoul into the company a little deeper…to where he would be afraid to do anything that might harm it.

As Leonie entered the large bathroom and turned on the hot water, she briefly wondered what Freddie was doing. He'd disappointed her more than she'd admit to anyone. It was very cruel of him to leave her to fix everything. And yet so like the bastard.

Just as she'd untied the sash on her robe, the phone rang. Shaking her head in disgust, she went to answer it. "Hello?" she sharply asked.

"Leonie! They found…." Raoul's voice was shaking.

Her heart skipped a beat. _Had they found a body?_ "What, Raoul?" she gently asked.

"Her purse. Except…there was nothing inside!"

Leonie shook her head and took a seat on the bed. "Calm down, dear. Take a breath. Maybe she grew tired of carrying it."

"But why was there nothing inside!" he exclaimed.

_So much for a bath. _

* * *

Erik didn't return for several hours, and she watched Nadir become increasingly nervous as the sky grew lighter and the clouds faded. Both of them had held their breaths when a truck had decelerated near the factory, but it had again picked up speed and disappeared. Christine dug her fingers into the edge of the seat, hoping that this constant fear of being found wouldn't plague her for the rest of her life. If only everyone would just leave them alone… 

She was startled when the door abruptly opened and Erik climbed inside. "I have found shelter," he stated, tension in his voice. "But you must drive quickly. Continue north." Nadir nodded and started the car. Christine could see why Erik was distraught; day was breaking, and other vehicles were beginning to trickle onto the roads. Lights flipped on in the homes that lined the streets. Erik leaned forward, his eyes darting back and forth. "Faster," he hissed.

"If I go any faster, we will be stopped!" Nadir exclaimed. Erik muttered something beneath his breath but said nothing else. The road began to twist and turn, and the area became slightly less populated. Brown dormant grass stretched out between the homes and businesses. Erik commanded Nadir to turn right and into an area that had recently been cleared of vegetation for the construction of residences. Some of the homes and townhouses were only half-finished, their wooden skeletons and reflective insulation visible. "Erik," Nadir stated with alarm. "These are new complexes."

"They are."

"But people will be looking through them!"

"This particular one is sold to a man of high status, but he will not occupy it for another four months. Due to disagreements over parts of the land, many of these homes will not be sold for over a year, meaning few souls will be near to disturb us. And if they do come by, we can always frighten them away with a few simple tricks." Nadir started to say something else, but Erik interrupted him. "If it does not please you, you are free to go somewhere else." Mr. Khan didn't dare argue anymore. Erik turned to face her, gently taking her hand and softening his voice. "It has two bedrooms, one of which will be yours. And a kitchen and living area. And a basement! If necessary, we can always escape through the basement." She nodded, squinting through the lingering darkness at the identical brick structures. Erik instructed Nadir to stop in front of a townhouse that could accommodate four families, opening his door before the car had come to a halt.

For the first time ever, she saw a glimpse of him in the sun. It was only during the brief moment that he walked from the car to a side door, but she saw early morning's light glint off his mask and make his flesh appear even whiter. Some part of her mind, perhaps the part that had absorbed the fairy tales of her childhood, expected his pale skin to burst into flames. It didn't, of course.

After playing with the lock and pushing the door open, Erik stepped into the dimness and turned back to Nadir. "The car needs to be hidden. It cannot sit out here."

"What should we do with it?"

Erik hesitated in the doorway. "Put it in the back for now. We may need to destroy it later, as someone could find it and trace it back to London. And then we might as well shoot ourselves in the head." Christine grimaced. Erik placed a hand on her shoulder after she had climbed out and rushed to the entrance, her legs shaky from lack of use. "We will be fine," he assured her. "No one will find us."

She followed him inside while Nadir drove the car to a more secure spot. The air was even cooler inside the townhouse. The square room was vacant, save for a few empty boxes on the tan carpet, and the only available light filtered in through the windows from the streetlamps. The scent of paint and freshly-cut wood hung in the air. Erik stared at the room, his eyes softly glowing with contentment. "The electricity may not work," he began, "although I will attempt to see to that later. It is best that the lights stay off for now, anyhow. The water is supposedly functional."

"It's nice, Erik." she murmured, coming to stand beside him. It all felt slightly ethereal.

"We will add more to it," he assured her. "Until we are able to permanently escape the country, it will do well for us." She nodded. "I will look downstairs now." Christine followed behind him, and he slowed his pace so that she could keep up. The stairs weren't carpeted, and her footsteps were embarrassingly noisy against the wood. Erik opened the squeaky door at the bottom and walked inside. "Hmm."

She blinked, but her eyes did not adjust to the complete darkness. All she could make out were Erik's eyes. "I can't see anything."

"There is nothing but concrete and a few metal pipes. And small windows near the ceiling that could possibly be used for a quick escape."

"Oh."

"I know it is bland. You are used to so much better, I am sure. It will simply take time to acquire possessions. And I do not know how long we will remain here. "

"No. It's fine, Erik. I understand. I'm just glad we're away from London. "

She felt him brush his icy fingers against her cheek. "Prepare a list of what you wish me to get for you. Anything you want. Simply ask."

"Maybe just some real food," she stated with slight humor. "A hot meal would be nice. If the stove works…"

He softly chuckled. "I suppose you are tired of crackers. Nadir will cook for you. If I remember correctly, he is somewhat useful in the kitchen."

"Oh. I can help him." She paused. "What do you like to eat, Erik? I've always wondered. I've never even seen you eat…"

"I am indifferent to food."

"But there must be something you like."

"Christine…" He sighed. "My sense of taste is not as acute as yours. Food is primarily a source of energy; it is not a source of pleasure as it is for most human beings."

"Oh," she whispered. Food had always seemed like such a basic enjoyment, from each chocolate bar as a child to every holiday feast. "Can you taste anything?"

"Sometimes," he admitted. "If it is very pungent. Certain strong flavors. Sugar, occasionally."

She nodded. "You should get spices, then. And sweet things."

He softly sighed again. A silenced passed, and Christine started to turn and make her way back to the entrance, still unable to see anything. She had also heard the door close upstairs when Nadir entered. Just as she began to walk in the opposite direction, she suddenly felt something odd near her temple and forehead. A soft and cold sensation pressed against her skin, lingering there for a couple of seconds.

"Erik?" She turned and touched the tingling spot with her fingers. The two yellow stars were drawing back from her, as though he were pulling away.

"Forgive me," he whispered. "I will never do it again. Erik just wished to one time. Just once while you could not see him."

It took her a moment to understand. He had kissed her. "Erik. Oh. Please don't be sorry. It's fine. I…I've wanted you to." She reached out a hand toward him, and he tightly took it, drawing her closer to his side. The warmth of her love meshed with the nauseating fear of loss, and she tightly embraced him with a soft sob of relief.

She was grateful that Nadir was there to provide some stability and reason in all this uncertainty. Otherwise, the concealing darkness of the basement might have seemed all too comfortable.


	52. In Limbo

This is another slower chapter. The next one will begin to move the plot along a little more. The next update may be a little delayed with finals and graduation (yay!) coming up soon. Thank you as always for your words of encouragement.

Also, I don't think I've ever mentioned the exact cause of Louis' death, but I'm not positive. If there is an inconsistency in this chapter, please tell me, and I'll edit.

**Read and Review!!!**

Gavin stared down at the black and white numbers on his cellular phone as he waited in the airport terminal. Someone jostled his shoulder, and a baby was hollering, but he was nearly oblivious to the other travelers. Christine's ex-fiancé has asked people to call with any information as to her whereabouts, and Gavin had been questioning his obligations. In his right hand he held a piece of paper with the number for the U.S. hotline.

He knew a few tidbits that could be useful, such as the address that he had given Christine for temporary boarding. He could also tell them about that time she had rented a room for some mysterious friend, along with all her other strange comments.

But what if he put her in even more danger? Christine's words from last autumn came back to echo in his ears.

_Would you think I was crazy if I said that…there were certain things I even missed?_

_There will be no problems as long as…as you don't say anything. _

At the hotel, she had begged him not to tell anyone what she was doing. Gavin didn't know much about the 'masked monster' that was supposedly behind all this, and the sensational news didn't help with the details. Was she really in the clutches of a deranged serial killer? Was she kidnapped or dead or safe? Or maybe there was more to this than he could even begin to guess.

He rubbed his temples. Marisol came over and sat in the plush seat next to him, handing him a paper cup of steaming black coffee. "You look exhausted," she stated with a laugh. "I didn't mean to completely wear you out."

Gavin took a drink and winced as he burned his tongue, before putting his phone down for a moment. "Just a lot on my mind. Thanks for the coffee."

"You know what I just saw in a newspaper?" She turned and faced him with a grin.

"What?"

"Carlotta Glouer came to the Caribbean a few days ago with some relatives. They're trying to keep it kind of hush-hush. I don't know which island it is, either. But wouldn't that be funny if she was right here? Aw. I would have liked her autograph."

"Heh," he replied. "Well, maybe she'll tour the states one of these days, and we can go see her."

"Yeah!" she exclaimed. "We really should!"

He absentmindedly put an arm around his wife's shoulders, feeling something tug at his subconscious. _Carlotta Glouer had just been rescued. And she was related to…that old guy on television. And he was rich and…Eh. Forget it. _He hadn't gotten much sleep the previous night, and his brain was too tired to put anything together. Gavin stared back down at his phone and frowned. They would be boarding their flight within minutes.

_There will be no problems as long as…as you don't say anything. _

Gavin sighed. "If you say so, Christine," he muttered beneath his breath. He crumpled up the piece of paper with the number and threw it into a nearby trashcan. After hesitating another moment, he excused himself from his wife's side and walked over to a quiet corner with his phone. Scanning the directory, he quickly found Christine's cell phone number. She had told him not to give it out to anyone, and he had obeyed so far. Gavin punched the call button and was unsurprised when he was immediately asked to leave a message in her voice box. He did so, before returning to his wife's side and putting the phone into his travel bag.

"Did you figure everything out?" Marisol asked, looking up from cutting a bagel in half with a plastic white knife.

"Yeah," he replied, taking a seat. "We'll just have to wait and see how everything turns out."

"That's all you can do." She leaned over and kissed his cheek. "Are you ready for your interview?"

"Hopefully. As long as I don't do something completely stupid. Like spill coffee in the interviewer's lap."

She laughed and started to spread cream cheese on the bagel. "Well, if they don't pick you, I'll go down there and hurt them."

Gavin chuckled and relaxed into the seat. "I'll tell them that, too. My new wife is a plastic knife-wielding maniac. So you better hire me, dammit."

* * *

Her words had been true; she had wanted the kiss. His mask had always been a fragile barrier, though. Christine worried that, on the slim chance Erik agreed to take it off, she would again have trouble looking at his face. And that would do nothing but hurt him again. Still, she desired his touches and affections. She also wanted to eat with him and learn his facial expressions…to know what was on his mind. The simplest acts had become painfully complex. 

Hand-in-hand, they had emerged from the basement. Erik said nothing during their short embrace in the pitch-blackness, but his eyes told her that he was relieved by her response. She stumbled once as they reached the top of the stairs, a wave of exhaustion overtaking her. A painful pounding lingered behind her eyes. She felt Erik's hand on her upper arm, steadying her. "You will rest now," he stated, his voice a bit weary. "If you become ill, we will have few options."

Nadir nodded in agreement. "I brought in several blankets and pillows. I think that I will rest, too."

"I'll be okay," she stated, feeling a little pathetic. "Maybe just a short nap."

"You may choose your room," said Erik. "The one toward the back may be warmer."

She nodded. "All right." A quiet conversation began behind her as she headed to the back room, but she was too tired to care what was said. Sitting down upon the plush carpet, Christine curled up against the wall and put the pillow behind her head. After draping the blanket over her legs, she immediately fell into a restless doze.

Her neck ached when she awoke in the awkward position. The sleep had been shallow, and a part of her mind had been on alert for any sounds that could indicate trouble. Still, her head was clearer, and the pounding had faded. After stretching and bending her neck several times, she rose up and walked back into the living area. The door to the other bedroom was closed, and she guessed that Nadir was sleeping. Erik was crouched on the floor and staring down at a folded piece of paper, but he immediately stood when she entered. She noticed that he disliked anyone towering over him.

Christine paused in her steps, wondering if he wanted to be alone, but he beckoned her inside with one hand. "You are awake. Were you comfortable?"

She nodded. "What time is it?" The white blinds were all pulled down. Only one set had been cracked open, allowing in enough light for her to see.

"Just past two in the afternoon."

"Oh. So much for a short nap." She glanced at the piece of paper in his hands.

"You needed to sleep," he replied. "Nothing of use can be done during the daytime, anyhow. I am merely examining the city. It is essential to know all escape routes if the time comes."

"Do you think they'll keep chasing after us?" she softly asked.

"For at least a short while. According to several sources, Oliver has fled the country."

Her eyes widened. "So there's just Leonie now."

"And de Chagny." He stared down at the map again and began to draw a black line from the center to the right corner.

Christine hesitated, attempting to avoid the sharp edge on the conversation. "But Leonie is in charge of everything. She's the one who's in control now."

Erik glanced up again, his eyes narrowing. "I always assumed her to be a large inheritance and an attractive face to add to the company's image."

"She seemed to be really involved when I was there. Even more than Mr. Oliver in some ways. But maybe I'm wrong…"

"Perhaps she was more involved than I was aware," Erik conceded. "Nevertheless, de Chagny has taken Oliver's place as her esteemed partner. Every London newspaper has confirmed that truth. And he will continue to search for you." Erik's tone was more matter-of-fact than hostile, but his shoulders were angled forward with tension. "He is his father's son, it seems."

She wanted to insist that Raoul was nothing like Oliver. Raoul didn't care about money or power; he'd never hurt anyone on purpose. With this news, Christine was worried about her friend's welfare, especially with Leonie in control. She had hoped that Raoul would leave London, but there had been no way to explain to him that she wasn't in danger. Even a short letter wouldn't have convinced him of her love for Erik, and she'd been forced to leave things in a mess. Staying in London any longer would have meant endangering Erik's life, and she'd had to choose between the lesser of two possible tragedies. "Maybe no one will find us," she murmured, putting an end to the conversation. "Maybe they'll think we're out of the country."

His shoulders relaxed. "We will hope that is so, Christine." She smiled, and he nodded once. Taking one of her books from a bag that Nadir had brought inside, she sat down on the floor and stayed with Erik for the remainder of the afternoon. Nadir came out at some point and silently picked up a newspaper. Erik was very alert throughout the daytime, constantly glancing out the windows to ensure that no one was nearby. He seemed to calm when the sun began its descent. "Rain is predicted for the next week," he stated with contentment.

"Let us hope that this place has no leaks, then," Nadir replied.

Dinner consisted of wheat crackers and strawberry jam, although Erik assured her that he would get adequate food that night. The room soon became too dark for her to read, and Christine considered asking if there was electricity or a flashlight. "Erik. I can't see anymore."

"Yes!" he agreed with much more enthusiasm. "It is perfectly dark, no? We may go out for a bit now, if you would like."

"All right," she replied with slight surprise. She watched as he gathered the violin case into his arms and then followed him into the back. Although it was cold, the air was refreshing, scented with construction materials and pine. Erik was alive at night; his stride was quick and graceful, and his eyes were more vibrant. She wondered if his hatred of day came from that horridly false childhood belief. Or maybe he just hated the light because it made him more visible…or because there was something that Nadir had yet to tell her.

He finally stopped at a short brick wall that appeared to be more for decoration than protection of the property. Half-sitting upon the fixture, he retrieved the instrument from its leather case and began to tune it. She pulled herself upon the wall, somewhat puzzled that he hadn't spoken to her since they came outside; all his attention was focused on the violin. Satisfied with the sounds that the strings produced, Erik began to play. He played several of her favorites, along with a few unfamiliar faster pieces in which the bow was a blur over the strings. Her heart leapt with each sudden crescendo, and she sensed life within the melody, even in the slower pieces. She remembered first hearing him play at the house by the graveyard, when every tune had sounded mournful.

Erik finally stopped playing and looked down at her, tilting his head. She was mesmerized by that point, a warm tingling spreading through her face and limbs. "We will have to hear your voice again," he stated with satisfaction.

"Oh," she whispered, blinking as she returned to earth. "I think I'm too tired tonight." Christine paused. "But what if you sing? I haven't heard you sing since…" The disturbed glint returned to his eyes. "Oh, Erik. I promise that it has nothing to do with not wanting to be here or escaping. I just miss your voice. Just like you miss mine."

"Nothing good can come of my voice."

"Don't say that. You sing better than anyone else I've ever known. Better than any professional. Where did you learn?"

"I did not learn," he stated, staring downwards. "It just always was that way."

"Then it's a wonderful talent," she whispered. "Please sing. And then I will tomorrow."

A long silence passed, and she reached and gently touched his shoulder. "One song," he finally acquiesced.

She nodded and smiled. "All right." He sang several parts from Mozart's _Die Entführung aus dem Serail _to please her, and she remembered that the opera had a surprisingly happy ending for the two escaping lovers. His voice was as perfect and hypnotizing as it was those many months ago, only this time no fear waited to bubble up after the euphoria had passed. His eyes were wary when he finished and stared down at her, but her elation was only replaced with a calmer delight instead of the terror that Erik seemed to expect. Her face was warm, and she suddenly felt braver. She wanted nothing more than to touch him, than to crush every wall that stood between them. "Thank you."

She turned to face him, reaching up with both hands and brushing her fingers along the edge of his mask. He flinched. "No!" Erik snapped through gritted teeth, turning his head away.

Christine quickly withdrew her hands. "I won't. I promise. I'll ask first."

"It is best if you do not ask," he retorted. "All is fine as it is. And you only think that you wish to because of my damned voice! But the eyes are not as easily fooled as the ears."

"Erik." She hesitated. "I've already seen again. When you were unconscious in the tunnels." She paused, not wanting to get Nadir in trouble. "Your mask had slipped off."

His hands curled, and he abruptly turned to face her. "_He allowed you to see that?" _

"Erik," she pled. "No. It was fine. I promise. It was fine. Please." She placed her hands on his shoulders and gently squeezed. "I could look."

"I swear that I will…" He glared in the direction of the complex.

"Please don't be mad at Nadir. He told me not to look until he had tied the mask back on, but I wanted to see. It shouldn't always be like this…"

"I will never ask that of you. I want you to be happy with me-not miserable. Not sickened."

"But I will be happy. We could do so much more. We could try…"

"Not now." He firmly grabbed her wrists with one hand and kept her fingers from wandering near his face. "Not tonight! Do you understand? Say that you understand! _You will not touch Erik's mask!_"

Christine rapidly nodded and retreated. "All right, Erik. I'm sorry. Not tonight, then." He released her wrists. A twinge traveled through her heart as she turned forward, and she felt like a child that had been reprimanded. She shifted her legs and wondered if he wanted her to go inside.

"Do not leave now." His voice was weakened. "I did not mean….I do not want you to go. Do not go."

She resumed her position. "I won't."

"You will never leave?"

"I won't ever leave, Erik. I love you." She sighed and rested her head against his shoulder, coming to understand that it was fear rather than anger that had fueled his outburst. After a moment, he hesitantly put an arm around her mid-torso, before tightening his hold. Glancing up at him, she saw that his eyes were peacefully closed. Even when Christine felt cold raindrops begin to pound against her scalp, she didn't suggest that they go inside.

* * *

"The company is committed to ethical standards. All allegations that say otherwise will be proved as attempts by our competitors to discredit us. _Falcon_ has repeatedly shown itself to survive all attacks on its credibility. All other questions should be directed to our lawyers." 

Leonie's words came out of Raoul's mouth with a strange smoothness, as though she were literally speaking through him. A few cameras flashed, their white lights causing small dots to linger in his vision. He robotically stepped backward and ignored several other inquiries; Leonie had told him not to give into the reporters' intrusive questions. He felt as though he was walking in a haze as he headed toward the awaiting car and climbed inside. Leonie smiled from across the seat, a portable television in her hands. "That was marvelous," she stated with a smile. "Although you might want to show a bit more emotion next time."

He nodded. "I'm just tired. And I didn't even really know what I was talking about. Which allegations? Product lawsuits?"

"Just stupid matters," she stated with a shrug. "It's just important that we stay in touch with the public; otherwise, we'll look like we're hiding something." She laughed. "And we wouldn't want that."

"Yeah." He rubbed his aching forehead. "Any news on what the police have found?" Raoul couldn't hide the eagerness in his voice.

"Not a word," she replied. "But they're still looking, dear."

"Oh." A heavy feeling settled on Raoul's chest.

"I was thinking," she continued after a moment. "You've been through so much in these past weeks. Maybe you should take a night off and have some fun. I have this friend that could show you the city. It might be nice to get out for awhile."

He glanced up. "I don't know. I don't think I'm up for it."

"It would just be for a couple of hours," she insisted, laying a hand on his shoulder. "A man your age deserves some freedom, right? Especially with all the money you're making. What fun is it if you don't spend a little?"

"I'll think about it. I think I'm just going to go to bed early. I'm really tired."

"All right, then." The disappointment was evident in her tone. "I'll take you to your hotel. I'm going to the offices to clarify a few things." Tension flashed in her green eyes. "Sometimes you'll find that the smallest of matters can become complicated. And then there are other problems that initially seem horrible but that can be taken care of with such simplicity."

"Yeah. I guess so." Raoul stared out the window, watching the throngs of people and buildings pass by in a grey blur. He'd had a dream the previous night, or maybe memory was the better word. He'd been in his junior year of college when his father had experienced a severe stroke. Louis de Chagny had wanted to recover at home, although he ended up only deteriorating as the months passed. The stress of his life had finally caught up with him. One day, his father had shooed his youngest son out of the room and told Phillip to stay behind. Raoul had attempted to listen at the door.

"I don't understand," came the muffled words of his older brother. "What are you talking about?"

He could just barely hear his father whisper. "It was wrong. Everything was wrong…"

"What's wrong?" asked Phillip.

"It doesn't matter now. Just fix it for me. You have to pay those people back."

"What people?"

His father was nearly incoherent. Louis had died several days after that conversation, leaving Phillip some sort of request that Raoul never completely understood. Apparently, the request never was fulfilled.

Muttering a few words of goodbye to Leonie, he climbed out of the limousine and walked to the swinging glass doors of the hotel. His head throbbed rhythmically, and his mouth was dry. Climbing into the empty elevator, he punched a button and leaned against the wall.

Raoul wanted to leave this. He wanted to go back to one year ago and fix everything to how it should have been. If he could just go back to a year ago, he could take Christine and save them both from being trapped in this maze of horror. Raoul squeezed his eyes closed and desperately wished that he would wake up at his house in the suburbs, with Christine months away from becoming his wife. He didn't want to know any of this…to be a part of any of this. It wasn't fair! His life had practically been stolen from him!

The elevator beeped and rumbled open. He climbed out into the eerily empty hallway and unlocked the door to his room. Panic nearly choked him as he stepped inside and fell onto the freshly-made bed. The days were ticking by, and there was no sign of Christine. He tried not to think about what horrible things were occurring to her. If, God willing, they did find her alive, she would likely need years of psychiatric therapy. Knowing the masked fiend, she could very well be enduring physical torture along with everything _else._ She was completely at his mercy now!

"I hate you!" Raoul shouted into the silence, the sinister black mask and evil yellow eyes flashing into his mind. "You're monstrous and disgusting, and I hate you! How could you do this to her? She was one of the nicest people on earth, and you destroyed her! She didn't deserve this! We don't deserve this!" A soft sob escaped his arid mouth. "I hate you. Oh, for the love of God, give her back…"

He wished and begged and prayed to go back to simpler times, all the while knowing that the past could never change.

A feeling of despair settled over him, and he buried his face into his hands.

_Everything was wrong…_

And, like his father, he was clueless as to how to make it right.

* * *

Nadir could only watch as various items began to accumulate inside the townhouse over the next week. After Christine went to sleep, Erik would go out for several hours every night. He came back with food, clothing, folding furniture, toiletries, newspapers, and whatever else that Christine asked for. Thankfully, no unwanted visitors appeared at their doorway; the area was quiet for the most part. They had retained possession of the car, although Erik was making plans to dispose of it and find a new vehicle. 

Erik slowly let his watchful guard down and spent the daytime charting escape routes and determining where easily 'borrowed' supplies might be found. Toward the end of the week, Nadir spotted some scribbled red notes on a sheet of paper and decided that Erik had found some time to compose again. Although Nadir occasionally received a cold retort from his friend, Erik remained fairly even-tempered. He went about the task of their survival with calm calculation.

Every evening, the strange couple would disappear for several hours, and Nadir knew not to follow them. He would occasionally hear the violin or one of their voices softly ringing into the night. Mr. Khan made no more comments to either of them about future considerations. Even if this limbo was only temporary, at least Erik was able to experience some happiness in his time on earth.

While the electricity was still not functional, the gas stove seemed to work well enough. Nadir remembered several dishes from Iran and attempted to cook the poor girl a decent warm meal. Christine stood beside him in the kitchen and helped with slicing the vegetables and preparing the rice. He found it surprisingly pleasant to have someone work beside him, particularly because she didn't snap at him every two seconds.

On one occasion, Christine had silently taken a small bowl and scooped some of a half-prepared beef and rice dish into it. She had added various spices to the mixture, before placing it into a pot on the stove and leaving the room for a moment. Nadir had curiously sampled it, wondering if she was trying her hand at the culinary arts. The flavoring nearly suffocated him, and he gagged on the salt, ginger, and nutmeg.

"Christine," he gently stated when she reentered the small kitchen. "I think you may have…gotten the recipe wrong on that one." He coughed a few more times.

Her eyes widened. "That was for Erik. It's supposed to have more flavor." She softly laughed and scooped the food back into the bowl, before covering the container with several pieces of paper towel. By the following morning, the bowl was empty again, and there was no sign that the contents had been thrown away.

Erik dined alone and after Christine went to bed. Nadir had always thought it cruel that fate had not even spared Erik's mouth from distortion. He had borne witness to Erik eating years ago, and it wasn't a pleasant sight to watch the twisted lips close and open with each bite of food. Nadir had even practiced mental exercises when it came to looking at Erik. He would force himself to remember that any face is really nothing but skin, muscle, and bone. Erik's face was simply rearranged differently, right? Still, as horrible as it was to say, watching his friend eat was unappetizing.

Sometimes Erik would sit and stare at the wall or the ground. During the later hours, he would silently look at nothingness, his eyes devoid of a distinct emotion. At first, Nadir was concerned. He then wondered if Erik was simply attempting to gather his tattered mind together. It was Mr. Khan's belief that Erik had purposefully held onto insanity for the last few years. Who would want to be sane of mind when life had been so horrible? Who wouldn't want to escape reality? Now, though, reality was not so torturous, and sanity was not as cruel.

Still, Nadir kept a close eye on his friend and watched for any disturbing mood changes or lapses of sanity, especially when it came to the girl.

On one occasion, Nadir did become slightly worried. It was nearly two weeks into their stay. The weather had been cloudy and cold for the most part, but that particular day brought a few rays of sunlight. During mid-afternoon, Christine was staring out one of the windows, her fingertips lightly touching the glass. "I think I'll go out back for a bit," she stated. "No one will see me, right?"

Nadir hesitated, knowing that she needed a bit of light for her health. "You should be fine. Just keep watch."

She smiled. "I will." Grabbing one of her books and a jacket, she stepped into the back. He saw her take a seat on the brown grass and begin to read, her blonde hair glinting and fluttering around her face. A pink glow settled on her cheeks. Nadir nearly jumped when Erik came up from behind him.

"Where is Christine?" His voice was tense.

"She wanted to step outside for a bit."

"In broad daylight?" Erik pulled back the blinds, his eyes igniting.

"No one will see from here," Nadir replied. "She needs some sun, Erik. She's a bit pale. It's good for her. "

Erik stood there and glared the entire time, his fingers gnarled. Nadir thought that his friend would have strangled the sun if he'd been able to do so. When she came back inside, Christine glanced up and smiled in greeting. Nadir prepared to defend her from one of Erik's screaming fits, but his masked comrade said nothing. She looked between them. "Is everything okay?" Erik remained silent, his arms folded against his chest.

"Everything is fine," replied Nadir. She nodded and went to retrieve a small radio that Erik had gotten for her. Erik seemed to slowly calm with her presence, although he did keep close to her for the remainder of the afternoon and evening.

"Erik. You could go out there with her," Nadir softly suggested the next day, after Christine had stepped into the sunshine again. "I do not think she would mind. She would probably appreciate it." Erik's death glance silenced him. The glower faded, though, and he just quietly watched her until she returned. There was a part of Erik that clung to his monstrous vision of himself; he could not fail at being a member of the human race if he did not try. Nadir didn't know enough psychology to repair the damage.

On one night, nearly three weeks into their stay, Mr. Khan watched as Christine returned first from one of their outings. (Erik had manipulated someone into giving them electricity by that time, and Nadir had taken the risk of switching on a dim lamp.) She smiled genuinely as she headed for her bedroom, but her forehead was damp with cold perspiration. Her face was drained of color and contrasted with her bright eyes. She looked like a flu patient who had just won the lottery, ill but elated.

Erik returned several minutes later, and there was no mistaking the emotion in his eyes.

"What happened?" Nadir couldn't help but ask.

"She did not die, Nadir," Erik stated, limply falling back against the wall. "She did not die. And I love her, Nadir. I love her!"


	53. House of Glass

Finals are finally over, and updates should be fairly regular. Thank you for all your kind words. I'll try to do more review replies this time around. There are some anonymous reviewers who I also love to hear from but that I can't send a reply to. Thank you as well. I appreciate all of them.

**Read and Review!!!**

Their days followed a pattern that she'd come to enjoy. After the utter uncertainty and terror of the last few months, predictability was welcome. Erik brought her whatever form of entertainment was available. During the daytime, she'd either read or listen to music, and on the nicer days she'd go outside.

Deep down, she knew that they couldn't exist like this forever. Fugitives can never stay in one place for very long. Her hope was that someday they wouldn't have to hide, that someday, even if only at night, she could walk with Erik down the street or sit beside him at the theater. She wondered if he'd ever been to the opera. She'd gone in Chicago several times and had enjoyed every second of the experience. Maybe…

Or was she indulging in childish fantasies of happily-ever-after? She asked herself this question and was never sure of the answer. Could they ever live without fear?

Every night, they went out together and immersed themselves in music, abandoning the rest of the bleak world for several hours. They sat close, their fingers sometimes entwined or their shoulders touching. She would often kiss him atop his head before bed each night, although she never brought up the mask for those several weeks. Erik remained even-tempered for the most part, and they avoided topics of the past.

On that particular night, about three weeks into their stay, they sang a duet from _Otello_. It was the first time that they sang the song all the way through, and she was nearly breathless when they finished. Her mind was lost within his divine voice, and her singing seemed to come without concentration. A tear streamed down her cheek as they finished, for she knew well how that story ended. And she knew that the ending to this story was far from certain.

She reached out and brushed the right side of his masked face with her fingers, staring into the golden stars with her chin tilted upwards. Erik sighed and turned his head away, and she saw a shudder run through him. "Erik?"

"If you would close your eyes…" He let the unfinished sentence disintegrate into the breeze.

Christine started to tell him that she didn't need to close her eyes but thought better of it. "All right," she whispered, her heartbeat quickening. She obediently shut her lids, immediately feeling him place an icy hand over her eyes in recognition of her possible intentions. He had good reason not to trust her, she supposed. A silence passed, and she swallowed in anticipation. In a split second, he had placed a kiss upon her cheek and drawn back, his hand still covering her closed lids. "Erik." A touch of frustration found its way into her voice. "Please."

Reaching out a hand, she found the side of his head and used it to guide her in the right direction. He was unresponsive as she leaned forward and pressed her mouth against his. The sensation was strange at first; his lips were dry, cold, and shaped unevenly. Christine momentarily panicked in fear that she would wind up humiliating herself. Tilting her head, she slowly became more comfortable, focusing on the narrower side of his twisted mouth. He was motionless, save for an occasional tremble. At some point, his hand finally fell away from her eyes. With one hand at the side of his temple and the other resting on his shoulder, she remained there for several seconds, unrelenting and determined.

Finally, she drew back with a deep breath. Then, she opened her eyes, knowing full well that the mask would still not be replaced. Her stomach jumped two times. Erik sat there staring at her; two yellow lights were beaming from one eye socket and a mound of unshaped flesh. It was difficult to read his expression on the deformed features, but she guessed it to be a 'blank face.' As she attempted to suppress all waves of nausea, Christine realized that she was in control of this moment. Whatever happened at that point would be based on her reaction. She leaned forward and quickly kissed the left corner of his poor mouth, her stomach continuing its staccato dance.

She was undeniably woozy as she approached the gaping holes. The skin was sallow and had a faint but unpleasant odor that came from being imprisoned behind the walls of porcelain. Still, she gently kissed him with her eyes wide open. Feeling dizzy, she finally turned away and hugged him, pressing her cheek against his shoulder as a cold sweat formed on her forehead. Erik was shaking beneath her arms, his breath weak and unsteady. It took nearly a minute for him to gather himself together. Then, he quickly replaced the mask and embraced her with a soft, "Oh!"

They stayed silently in that position for some time, and she slowly caught her breath. "If we do this sometimes, we'll be fine," she whispered. She ran a hand through his sparse hair. "If you'll just let me see sometimes, it won't matter anymore. I promise." Erik didn't answer, but she thought that she felt him nod once.

"Are you ill?" he asked after another moment, running a hand over her hair.

"No. Just a little tired."

"You should sleep now," he stated, releasing her. She nodded and stood up to wait for him. "I will be inside in a moment. You go."

"All right, Erik. Goodnight." Christine smiled, feeling a vague relief overtake her. She had not ruined the evening. She was not too weak. And she still loved him.

He was quieter the following day, although they stayed in each other's company. Erik gave her a wary glance when she first came out of the bedroom, and she hoped that her smile told him that there were no regrets. Around noon, she asked him if he wanted to step outside with her. Erik calmly but firmly refused, and she didn't prod. Christine knew that he didn't like her going out in the daytime, but the sun felt too wonderful against her face. If she stayed inside too long, she began to feel a little ill. To her surprise, Nadir followed her outside within a few minutes. "I thought I could use a little light. Am I bothering you?"

"No!" she exclaimed. "It'd be nice to have some company." She yawned and looked across the field. "There were some kids playing soccer way over there. I was tempted to join them."

"Yes. I imagine you could use some exercise. I am sorry that conditions are like this."

"It's fine," she replied. "It'll get better." They both sat on the dormant grass, and she leaned back onto her hands. February was nearing its end, and she wondered when the weather would become warmer. Spring was the season of renewal, wasn't it? "Can I hear more of the story?" she asked after a minute. "Erik leaves so late at night that I never get to talk to you alone."

"Ah. I keep hoping you will forget."

She laughed. "I want to know more than ever. You went back to France, right?"

He nodded. "Yes. We went to Paris, where _Falcon's_ offices were headquartered, and searched for a lawyer. France did not have class action lawsuits, and so we were forced to act alone." Nadir sighed, and his expression darkened. "After hearing of our claims, the company said that they wanted to negotiate with us. I think they knew full well that Erik was the little boy they had tried to murder."

"Why would you even try to negotiate with those disgusting people? Why not just go to court?"

"It was a lot of money," he replied. "We weren't familiar with French law and had no idea what we were getting ourselves into. The company sent a lawyer over, and he seemed genuine…treated Erik like a human being for the most part. I guess it was all a show. I am not for certain." Nadir was silent for a moment, his gaze drifting to the side in thought.

"What happened?"

"A meeting was arranged," he continued, looking back up at her. "_Falcon_ said that they wanted to talk about matters over dinner. Erik was to go alone. I can remember our conversation right before he left." A pained expression contorted Nadir's face. "You have to remember that he was only twenty, barely an adult despite his intelligence. Erik asked me if he looked presentable enough for those bastards. Honestly, Erik could never look presentable enough for _them_. He was too thin, and the mask was just too glaring. His suit was not all that expensive. But I told him he looked fine. What else could I say? And Erik nodded and left."

Nadir sighed and took a moment to collect himself, and she braced herself for the most difficult part of the story. "As you can guess, he never returned that night. I thought maybe he had stayed out too late and just gotten a room, although it was not like him to remain in public for very long. The next morning, there was an article in the paper about an arrest for a double murder. There were reports that the perpetrator had a severe disfigurement, and that they had been forced to wrestle the 'crazed' man to the ground. There was only one photograph of the occurrence, but it was blurry and taken in the dark. Still, I knew that it was Erik."

"Oh, Nadir," she whispered. "What did you do?"

"I spent months trying to find him…tried to find out anything that I could. But there was nothing. I do not even know if there was a proper trial. For a decade, I thought he was dead, Christine. I thought they had finally killed him."

She dug her fingers into the grass as a tear ran down her cheek. "Where was he?"

"I'm going to guess some prison in France or a neighboring country. I do not know for sure. After awhile, I finally gave up the search. I wallowed in depression for about a month, not even thinking of my own safety. I went to Toulouse and found a low-paying job with a biochemistry company…bought a small apartment and just lived one day to the next, hating myself for the most part. Everyone that I came near seemed to die." He wryly chuckled. "Actually, I did go on a couple of dates, and that was a pathetic sight. I felt like part of my soul had been sucked out of me."

"How did you find him?"

"I didn't. Ten years later, Erik found me. I'd briefly heard of some occurrence at a prison that had left a good number of people dead…most strangled. I had not made the connection, though. It would have been too much to hope and fear for…" Nadir paused. "If you think that you have seen Erik at his worst, you should have seen him then. He was a complete mess when he appeared in my apartment that night. He was bleeding, bruised, incoherent, dirty, restless…and very, very dangerous."

"And then the revenge," she softly continued, finally beginning to understand.

Nadir nodded. "I'll finish that part of the story another day. I cannot be sorry for everything I have participated in. Those people received no worse than they gave. But innocents were also killed along the way. Anyone who got in Erik's path met an early end. Until you." Nadir paused. "That night…"

"He said that having me would make Raoul talk," she murmured. It wasn't something on which she liked to dwell; how close had Erik come to ending her life that night?

Nadir shook his head. "I do not believe that, looking back. If that were the sole reason, he would not have gone to the trouble. There were plenty of other ways of making that young man talk, most of them much more gruesome than having you there."

"Then why? He didn't even know me."

He shrugged. "Your answer is as good as mine."

She frowned. "One more thing. How did Erik even find Raoul and me?"

An amused smirk played across Nadir's tired face. "Ah. That began with a picture in the newspaper."

"A picture?" Her eyes narrowed in confusion. "My engagement!" she exclaimed after a moment. "Raoul wanted to announce it to the world."

Nadir shook his head. "The poor boy succeeded in doing so, I fear."

* * *

Raoul hadn't gotten much sleep over the past month. Stress and anxiety kept him awake, along with the occasional thumping of people doing God knows what in the room above him. He blamed his paranoia on his constant exhaustion. Leonie hadn't been around as often. She was still sympathetic, but her answers to his questions were clipped and disinterested. When he went to dinner with her, she often left the table to take phone calls. 

"Is something wrong?" he'd asked her, wiping off his mouth with a cloth napkin. He always felt the need to keep perfectly clean in these restaurants. Frankly, he was starting to miss hamburgers and fries.

"No, dear," she replied with a smile. "Just business as usual. Don't worry about it." He nodded and went back to his meal.

Raoul continued to keep in close contact with the police, but nothing more was ever found. And so he just waited. He had a business degree and quickly learned the operations of the company. Leonie had been right; the job wasn't that difficult. He signed tedious forms and looked over annual reports. Most of the upper-level managers handled everything related to the manufacturing. The leaders of the divisions in other countries would occasionally call with a question, and he either answered as best he could or directed it to the appropriate office. It was all mundane.

Luxury was ever-present, though. A woman with a curly blonde perm came in to take his meal order everyday, and the food was always from the most exclusive restaurants in the city. Leonie suggested that he buy an expensive apartment, but he'd continued to stay at the hotel out of convenience. Someone did his laundry and cleaned his office, and a limousine constantly remained at his service. Leonie had even subtly suggested that he could pay good money for the services of beautiful women, but he'd refused. He didn't want that.

He wanted to find Christine.

It was a Tuesday afternoon, and rain was threatening to fall from the puffy grey clouds. With a briefcase in one hand, Raoul started to walk out of the office building and go home for the day. As always, his mind was half-asleep. He didn't even notice when a man in a grey suit and navy blue tie approached him. The middle-aged gentleman had a grim expression on his cleanly-shaven face. His brown eyes were intense and prodding. "Excuse me. Mr. de Chagny." The man held a notepad and pen in his hands.

Raoul glanced up. "The press isn't supposed to be here," he stated, as Leonie had taught him to do. If that didn't work, he would get security to handle the matter. "There's an interview tomorrow."

The man cleared his throat. "With all due respect, Mr. de Chagny. I'm not a reporter; I'm with the police."

"Oh!" he exclaimed, letting his guard down. "Have they found anything? Has Christine been found?"

The man hesitated. "This isn't about Ms. Daae."

Raoul squinted. "Then what is it about?"

"I have several questions that I think are fairly harmless. If you want, we could do this under more formal circumstances. Otherwise, you could just answer them for me now."

"What about?"

"A prison riot that occurred several weeks ago." The man stared closely at him. "One of the inmates was brutally stabbed and killed."

"I didn't hear anything about that," he replied, not understanding where this was going.

"The man who died was apparently partially responsible for your kidnapping last spring. His name was Darius. Probably thirty to thirty-five years old."

Raoul started. "Oh. I didn't know that. I forgot all about him. That's…" An unpleasant feeling settled in his stomach. "That's surprising."

"I see." The man quickly wrote something down. "You knew nothing about it at all? Not even in the news."

"No. I've been really busy."

"I'm sure you have," replied the man. He tucked his notepad away and backed up several steps. "Well…I suggest that you make no attempt to leave the country over the next few weeks. Just until we get this matter cleared up."

"What's going on?"

The man paused. "Just some technicalities, Mr. de Chagny. Stay put for awhile."

Raoul nodded. "I don't plan on leaving until Christine is found. You should talk to Leonie Neumanns. She might have more answers…if this is about the company."

"I'll do that." The man quickly walked away, turned left, and disappeared behind the corner of a building. Raoul swallowed and stared after him, shivering as a cold wind blew against his face and hands.

* * *

A euphoria raced through the shadow's veins as he crept through the back metal door of a food store and into the area where the products were first unloaded. He quickly collected what he could from the inventory that had not yet been shelved, Christine's list firmly engraved into his memory. Cinnamon. Nutmeg. A bag of apples. A loaf of wheat bread. A spatula… He would forget nothing. 

He still did not understand her actions. Why would anyone willingly get so close to the face of a cadaver? Even…even if she loved _him_, she could not love his corporeal form. Had he possessed his senses at the time, he might have stopped her. On occasion, he had unmasked himself in the face of his most despised victims before they died, taking delight in adding to their torture. But never would he expose his angel to such horror.

Yet, how could he regret it now? Afterwards, he had been in near pain, thrilled senseless from the occurrence but horrified at the thought of her leaving out of delayed disgust. But she couldn't leave now. His mind would not be able to handle her absence. Whether she ever kissed his hideous mouth again didn't matter. As long as he could see her everyday, he could breathe. And each time she touched him was just an additional fragment of heaven.

He plucked several magazines that she had requested from a rack, taking no interest in the covers. If the general population was considered unattractive in comparison to the faces on the fronts, then no word existed to describe what he was. Still, Christine seemed to enjoy reading them. He remembered that Nadir had asked for a newspaper and found one from the previous day. Habitually glancing down at the front page, he froze and reread the headline.

_International Manufacturing Company _Falcon_ Under Investigation _

And the next line.

_Did _Falcon's _newest boss sign off on a hit job? Police continue questioning. _

After reading the article, he let the paper fall from his hands and onto the linoleum tiles with a soft thud, before standing there in the eerie silence and considering the implications. _Darius._ The idiot had been too much trouble, but it would be invigorating if his death were to bring down the company. Although the prospect of justice might have contented him, only one thought remained certain.

Christine would not see this; it would upset her. The last thing that he wanted on her mind was that damned boy! Not now! She was his now. Besides, there would be delicious satisfaction if de Chagny went to prison. The boy wouldn't survive a month in there, much less a decade.

Something tugged at his mind, but he quashed the feeling. Christine would never know. He abandoned the paper on the floor and left with all he had acquired. Before going back to the townhouse, he went to an electronics store and retrieved several more music disks for her, the article replaying itself in his mind.

_Let them all rot in prison. _

He returned while it was still dark and set the items of food on the kitchen counter. Christine had taken to making meals specifically for him on occasion. Although he was never sure what he was tasting, he could feel something awaken his formerly deadened sense. When they went out in the evenings, he also thought that his non-existent nose caught her scent. He couldn't identify the smell, perhaps a soap of some kind, but it made him want to remain in her vicinity.

She came out of her room around eight and smiled, already washed and dressed. "Do you ever sleep?" she asked.

"Occasionally." He would sometimes lean against the wall and doze. Sleep had come easier within the last week, perhaps from knowing that he would awaken to her presence in his life.

"Aren't you tired?"

"No." She shook her head and briefly hugged him. Each time she did that, it was more difficult to be satisfied with her mere presence; her touch was addicting. Nadir soon came out and joined her, pulling out a frying pan from one of the cabinets and muttering about eggs.

_He_ left them to their morning activities and went into the living area to sit with his thoughts and perhaps get a few lines of his composition onto paper. Although the music of famous composers had come smoothly from the violin during his evenings with Christine, he sometimes found it difficult to concentrate on his own masterpiece. The second half was not properly matching the first. He stared down at the notes that he had written the previous night with disdain.

Suddenly, his head snapped up. His flawless hearing picked up the faint sound of male voices from outside. A shadow passed by the window. "Silence!" he hissed, racing back into the kitchen. They stopped their cooking and looked up at him in bewilderment

"What-?" Nadir started to ask, before he was silenced by three loud knocks at the front door. Christine quietly gasped and clutched onto the wooden spoon she was holding. His hand instantaneously darted toward the lasso. Two more knocks sounded out. Had Christine not been standing there, he would have given them no time to enter.

He placed his voice next to Nadir's ear at a whisper, his tone steady. "If they come inside, keep her away from the door. Do not let her see." Nadir frowned but nodded once in understanding.

He motioned for them to stay put in the kitchen, before approaching the front entrance again. A momentary fury ripped through him, heating his blood. How dare anyone disturb his happiness? He should dart out there now and rip their heads from their necks!

"I didn't think anyone was living here," faintly stated a man's voice. "But my son said he saw someone come in here last night."

"Probably just some kids trying to use it for a party or something," replied another man. "This place isn't occupied for another two months." There were fading footsteps and then silence. He considered chasing them, but it was daytime. Plus, their disappearances might arouse more suspicion. Still, he knew that this location would not be safe for much longer. The owner would arrive within a month or two, and there was little he could do to prevent that.

"Who was it?" Nadir asked as he returned to the kitchen.

"Neighbors, I suppose," he replied.

"Do you think they will be back?"

"I do not know. But it was expected at some point. While we are not in immediate danger, it is time to think about future locations."

"It was nice here," Christine murmured from behind him.

He cringed at the disappointment in her voice and turned around. The color was slowly returning to her cheeks. Reaching out, he gently ran a hand through her hair. "We will be fine. We will go somewhere else." She nodded, although a small frown remained on her lovely face.

Nadir sighed and took a seat, rubbing his temples with one hand. "I guess all we can do is wait." He glanced around the kitchen. "Did you happen to get a newspaper?"

"There was no newspaper!" _he_ snapped, his muscles tensing.

Nadir stared at him. "I just thought we could see if there are any reports of us being in this area."

"There was no newspaper," he steadily repeated. Christine was watching him, and he despised all those who had intruded on their bliss, from de Chagny to the damned neighbors. Her eyes pled for reassurance, and so he took her hand and gave it to her as best he could. "Do not worry, Christine. I will take us somewhere where no one will find us….where we will escape the rest of the world. There will be just music and you and Erik. Do you understand? You must not worry." His voice became shriller with each sentence, as he desperately tried to hold everything together.

She pursed her lips, and he was unable to read her eyes. "There has to be…" She stopped.

"What, Christine?" asked Nadir.

"Nothing," she softly replied, gently squeezing his hand. "We'll be fine."


	54. Torn

This chapter might not leave you with the best feelings. The story is about to take the final turn. There are still quite a few chapters, but we are heading for the climax. Tension is going to be high, and not all of the chapters are going to be pleasant reads. I hope you'll stay with me all the way through, though. Thank you as always for your words of encouragement.

**Read and Review!!!**

They went out together that evening, taking care to make sure that no unwanted eyes were watching them. As always, Erik carried his violin outside. Rather than tuning the instrument, he placed it upon the brick wall and silently sat down, his eyes distant. She sat beside him with her legs dangling over the short wall, still feeling melancholy from that morning. From the distance, she could hear laugher and the steady boom of a stereo. Maybe someone was having a house-warming party; she'd seen some giant moving trucks when she'd peeked out the window that afternoon. They were being invaded.

"Where are we going?" she asked after a moment, her tone steady. She didn't want him to know that she was afraid.

"We will remain in England for now. Perhaps begin moving south. It would not be safe to leave the country, and I do not wish to hide you away on an infested ship. You would likely catch some horrific disease."

She nodded. "When are we leaving?"

"As soon as I am able to make arrangements. I will stay on constant watch. Do not fret."

"I wish everyone would stop chasing us," she murmured, staring at the ground.

"The villagers do not stop their hunt until the monster has been strung up and torched."

"Erik. Don't say that."

"I wish to give you better," he continued. "You must believe that I will. I will find a place to hide us forever. Sooner or later, the world will deem us dead and forgotten. But we will be alive, my Christine. We will be alive."

She closed her eyes. "We shouldn't have to hide forever. Erik…I'd love to go with you to the opera someday. It's so amazing and enormous. Or even to the movies. I haven't seen a movie for months! And…"

His shoulders tensed. "I will never be allowed into the human race, Christine. They have destroyed me, and Erik has destroyed them in return." He tilted his chin upwards. "I daresay I have done far more than enough to earn my prison sentence." A certain satisfaction was sprinkled in his tone.

She tentatively reached out and took his hand, hoping to take him away from thoughts of destruction. "I'm sorry. I wish we didn't have to hide, but I understand. Nadir told me how you tried to negotiate and-"

He hunched into himself. "Let us not speak of that now."

She gently squeezed his fingers. "All right."

"We will find permanent residence," he continued, sitting up straight again. "Perhaps if we could get to Asia. We could hide in a village or city. No one would care, and we would be lost amongst billions of people." His eyes flickered with contentment. "Yes. Perhaps that would do. They will not know of us there."

A lump of uncertainty formed in her stomach. She was going to be taken away from all which was familiar to her, to where she knew no one and couldn't speak a word of the language. The constant running and hiding was going to make her a nervous wreck; she was going to become just as terrified of people as Erik was. If she hadn't gone with him, though, she would have regretted it. She had come to love him too much to even consider letting him die…letting him go. Wasn't there an answer somewhere?

Looking down at their entwined hands, she again saw a corner of one of the scars on his arms. With her other hand, she pulled up his sleeve slightly to reveal the rubbery-looking blotches of redness. She brushed her thumb over them, knowing that the cause of it had been excruciating. He jerked his arm away, and she frowned. "What happened?"

"What does it look like?" he harshly retorted.

"Burns," she murmured. He said nothing to refute her answer. "Oh, Erik! It doesn't matter to me. I just hate what happened to you. You shouldn't have to run. Everyone should have been able to hear your music. And you're so smart, Erik. You taught yourself everything! And they didn't even let you into college…And…" A soft sob escaped her throat. "It's not fair," she whispered, using both hands to wipe away her tears.

He stared down at her, his eyes slightly alarmed. She felt his icy fingers touch her cheek and temple. "You are very tired," he stated. "Relax now. The past is dead. And there is only us. We will be fine." She scooted closer and rested her head on his shoulder as he sang to her, allowing herself to be hypnotized for the night. His arms settled around her, and she took comfort from the contact as her heart warmed.

She knew that she couldn't always use his divine voice to hide from her problems, but it was just too much to think about that night. She leaned her head against the bony chest of her beloved and closed her eyes.

* * *

For the first time in weeks, Christine did not absorb his thoughts and dreams. Instead, Raoul was forced to focus on the building accusations. Horrible articles appeared about him in the newspapers, and police had been up to his office to question him on several occasions. He was bewildered. How could anyone think him guilty of murder? 

Leonie assured him that it was nothing, just another smear campaign against the company. She told him what to tell the police and hired a good number of lawyers to take the questions from the press. Enough evidence hadn't been gathered for an arrest, but the thought of going to prison made him sick to his stomach. He was innocent, for God's sake! There was only one person in the world that he'd ever even wanted to kill!

With nowhere else to go, Raoul had finally found a legal file and flipped through the stacks of papers. The contents were simultaneously upsetting and relieving. The company was involved in hundreds of lawsuits every year, but they seemed to win most of them. Those that they lost ended in settlements of small sums. The suits involved everything from faulty products to employee injury suits. At first, he reasoned that all gigantic companies had this many legal problems. Still, he wasn't sure.

No matter what the outcome, he couldn't live his life like this. This was his father's life, and his father had been a miserable man in the end. Raoul frantically dug through other files and found nothing of interest. How did he absolve himself of a crime that he knew nothing about? He wished that he had access to his father's file cabinets. Christine had been digging through them.

_Don't you ever want to know the reasons for what happened to us? _

She had asked him that on the day she broke the engagement. Had she known something?

Sitting at his desk, Raoul placed his face into his hands and took a deep breath. He couldn't leave the country until this scandal was over. The police were now more interested in him than in finding Christine. He at least needed to get out of London for awhile. Maybe he would go back to Oliver's house. If no one else was around, he could search the home for information. If he got caught, he could just say he left his belongings there. That was partly the truth.

He considered telling Leonie where he was going, but something kept him from calling her. He just wanted to get out of there and breathe again, to find some sort of clarity…before he really did have nothing left to lose.

* * *

Christine was lying on her stomach atop the white sheets of the cot. The little bed was surprisingly comfortable, and the cotton covers kept her warm. She buried her face into the pillow for a moment, not quite ready to take on the day. She felt helpless. She was going to end up either watching Erik die at the hands of the police or forever retreating into the darkness with him. 

As she finally sat up and pushed the covers off of her, she glanced down and spotted her cell phone. Weeks had passed since she'd turned it on. Only one person had her number, and she wondered what Gavin was doing. He was likely married by now. Maybe he didn't even know that she was missing.

Reaching down, she picked the phone up and clicked it on. A message flashed onto the screen and told her that she had one item of voice mail. Sure enough, it was Gavin's cell number. She swallowed back the lump in her throat and smiled, wishing that she could talk to him and get some advice; Gavin was always fair and unassuming. Her best voice of reason had been Nadir, but he was too tired and resigned to take any action.

Then again, she didn't really know how Gavin could help. And Erik would be infuriated if she ever found a way to call him. Maybe she would at least try to dial her voice mail box someday, after she was sure that no one could trace the location.

Turning off her phone, she slowly climbed out of bed and opened the door to her room. Seeing that the living area was empty, she checked the kitchen and found no one. A shiver traveled up her spine, and she nearly jumped when the back door swung open. Nadir rushed inside with something in his hands.

"Nadir. Where's Erik? What's going on?"

He glanced up. "Oh. Christine. Erik is not back yet, but I would not worry. He said that he may stay out through the daytime and take shelter somewhere else. He is looking for the quickest route out of the city."

"Oh," she murmured. "But he'll be okay?"

"Yes. I think he will be fine." Nadir held up the item in his hands, and she saw that it was a damp newspaper. "I saw this on someone's lawn and thought we could see if there are any reports. Hopefully, they will not miss it; it is several days old. I do not know why Erik was behaving so strangely about a newspaper."

"Hmm." She yawned and took a seat at the table, disliking Erik's absence. As she looked back up, she noticed that the color had drained from Nadir's face. His jaw was clenched, and his mouth was partially open. "What's wrong?"

He hesitated and looked at her. "_Falcon_ has made the papers."

"What?" She jumped up and walked to stand behind him. "Oh," she sickly whispered as she began to read. "Raoul."

"Do not be mad at Erik," Nadir quickly began. "He only-"

"I'm not," she softly replied. "I know why he didn't tell me." She sighed. "I wish Raoul had never gotten involved. I wish he had gone back home."

"I think he was involved from birth, Christine."

She was silent as she read over the entire article, a growing feeling of dread overtaking her. "Oh…" She groaned into her hands. "He can't go to prison! He's not responsible for killing someone. Raoul wouldn't do something like that! I know he wouldn't! I used to beat him at _Candy Land_!"

"He was likely set up," Nadir replied. "He was young and naïve, a perfect scapegoat."

Christine shook her head. "It's not fair! He can't go to jail!"

"Maybe he will get out of it," gently stated Nadir. "The company has excellent lawyers. I am sure he will escape conviction. Just as they all do." He shook his head in disdain.

"It's not fair, Nadir. We have to keep running from place to place. Raoul's trapped at that horrible company! And they all get away with it."

He turned and placed a warm hand on her shoulder. "I know, Christine. Nothing about this has ever been fair. We just have to do the best that we can." He flipped through the paper. "I see nothing about us." Nadir chuckled. "Maybe we have been forgotten now that this other story has come up. That would be a blessing."

She walked back to her chair, wearily falling into the seat. Nadir folded the paper in half. "I had best not let Erik see this. Not that it was right of him to hide it from you. But…you know Erik."

Christine nodded. "Could you…If we're still here, could you try to get the paper for the next few days? I just want to know that he's okay."

"I will try," he replied. Nadir studied her. "The young man still means a lot to you?"

She couldn't tell if the question was loaded, but an honest answer seemed best. "Raoul and I were close friends for a while in elementary school. He was nicer than the other kids, and we always had fun together. I liked going to his house because he had all these expensive toys." She laughed in remembrance. "When my father got sick, we managed to run into each other again. I was so depressed at that time, lying in bed for hours and waiting for a miracle. I felt like I was losing everything…my dad and my music."

"And the young man was a great comfort?"

She nodded. "Raoul was always there for me. And I loved him for that. I mean, we were in love. He made me feel safe and happy again, like I had something to hold onto. But…I think that we would have gotten frustrated with each other after awhile. I would have wanted my music again. And he wanted this ideal life that I'm-I'm not sure I could have given him."

Nadir continued to keep close watch of her face. "Would you still have separated if your lives had not been invaded?"

"I'm sure we would have gotten married and been happy for awhile. I just don't know how long we would have stayed together, how long we would have wanted the same things." She pursed her lips to the side. "It was kind of…I mean, when you guys came and…"

"Kidnapped and nearly killed you?" he offered.

She softly laughed. "When that happened, I couldn't go to Raoul. He was locked behind a door, more helpless than I was. No matter how terrified I was, I couldn't run behind him and hide from Erik. And so I sang and survived. Afterwards, I just couldn't hide anymore. And later I fell in love…" She swallowed. "But what happened between us doesn't matter. Raoul doesn't deserve to have his life destroyed. Just like Erik didn't…"

Nadir sighed. "I know. I wish that I had advice for you. I do not."

"I know," she replied. "If you could just find me the paper…"

"I will try."

"Thank you, Nadir."

Erik returned late that afternoon during a downpour of frigid rain. Seeing his dripping mask and suit, she immediately brought him a fluffy blue towel and embraced him, grateful to see him unharmed. His eyes shown with love, and she could feel no bitterness over his withholding of information. After wiping the towel over his mask and sleeves, he settled an arm around her shoulders, less hesitant now about touching her.

"Did you find anything of use?" asked Nadir.

"I think it is best to begin slowly heading south," he declared. "The quickest path of escape is through the English Channel and to the continent. A journey over the Atlantic would be nearly impossible at the present time, at least not with Christine." He affectionately brushed a hand through her hair, his voice calm and certain.

Nadir slowly nodded. "Do as you think is best."

The heavy rain continued into the night, and they did not go out with the violin. She quietly sat beside Erik on a two-person folding chair that served as their couch, not ready to lie alone in her bed and listen to the patter of rain hitting the roof. Maybe he noticed her downcast eyes when he glanced up from a map. "What is wrong, Christine?"

"Nothing," she replied with a tiny smile. "Am I distracting you?"

"Not at all." He took her hand. "Do not lie to me. Something troubles you."

"I just want us to be safe," she replied, wishing she wasn't such a terrible liar. God forbid that he find out that Raoul was also occupying a small portion of her thoughts. "That's all."

"We will be safe soon. I swear that to you. I promise!" He ran his thumb over the ring. "With you, I will be fine anywhere…anyplace. Location has no meaning."

"Erik…" Her heart beat with love for him. Reaching up, she gently loosened his mask and raised it just enough to kiss his yellowed cheek. Her face was warm, and her stomach was queasy, and she felt like she was spinning.

He blissfully sighed and held onto her for awhile. She rested her cheek on his shoulder and listened to the rain. "I should like to stay here all night," he softly began. "But it is necessary that I go out again."

She nodded and raised her head. "All right. Be careful. I love you." He pressed his masked cheek against her head for a moment longer, before rising and exiting through the back door. Christine briefly sat in the silence and then decided to head to bed. Despite her anxiety, sleep came as soon as she snuggled beneath the covers.

She had a dream that she was running up a set of concrete stairs with a rusted brown handrail. The sky was dark grey, and she had no perception of her other surroundings, except the knowledge that she was in a shadowy city. She was desperate to keep climbing, and the stairs seemed to become longer and steeper with every step she took. A darkly-dressed figure stood at the top with his narrow back toward her, and she wanted to scream at him, to warn him. "No! Stop!" she attempted to yell, before finding that she was unable to make any noise. Her words were nothing but a breathy choke as she continued her race up the endless steps. Her voice was dead.

Suddenly, a horrible, high-pitched shriek echoed all around her, and the figure disappeared. She stopped running and stood alone in the middle of the steps, panting and crying. An ache engulfed her chest and stomach; she'd been too late.

"Christine." A familiar voice spoke from down below. She turned to look but saw nothing but an empty sidewalk. "Christine. I'm sorry."

"I tried," she tearfully stated, finding her voice now that she didn't need it.

"Christine?" She finally hit that point where she realized that the voice was coming from the outside of the dream. Consciousness quickly overtook her, and she sat straight up with wide eyes, her hands clutching the covers. Nadir was standing in her doorway, partially obscured by shadows. "I am sorry to wake you," he stated. "But I…retrieved another paper for you."

She blinked. Her heart at first calmed as she realized that the empty city wasn't real, but her pulse quickened as she recognized concern in Nadir's tone. "Thank you," she whispered, slowly climbing out of bed. "Is Erik back?"

"No. Not yet. He should not be back for at least several more hours." He handed the newspaper to her, and she brought it out into the light of the sitting area. With a deep breath, she forced herself to look at the front and immediately felt her stomach clench.

_Attempting to Escape? Raoul de Chagny Released After One Night in Prison, Ordered to Stay in London_

According to the article, Raoul had been heading north. He claimed to be going to Frederick Oliver's house, but the police were skeptical. Leonie was quoted as saying she didn't know what he was thinking but doubted he was trying to escape. She said that she'd keep a close eye on all matters and would privately speak with the young man.

Christine closed her eyes. Raoul knew that something was wrong, but he was trapped now. Even if he wasn't convicted of murder, Leonie would find some way to keep him under her finger. She miserably ran a hand over her face and through her hair. Raoul would likely believe her now if she told him the story, but how could she ever make contact with him? That horrible woman was probably tracing his calls!

Gavin. Could he help? He knew a lot about investigating and digging up facts from strange sources. If she told him the story, maybe he would know where to get evidence. Maybe he would know how to expose the company for what it was.

Dizziness overcame her as these revelations swirled around in her mind, taunting her with a faint glimmer of hope. It all seemed like too much for her. But maybe…maybe…

Taking a long, deep breath, she attempted to be rational. Was she even making any sense? If she let Raoul go to prison, though, she was no better than all those who had let Erik suffer. She would feel guilty for the rest of her life. And what if she could get Erik's name out of the press? If everyone saw her alive, they would probably give up searching for Erik. It was too wonderful to think about.

But Leonie. Leonie would always be watching. Christine knew that she would have to make sure that woman never saw her.

A hand rested on her upper arm, startling her. "Are you well?" Nadir asked. "I know it is a shock for you."

Her lips slowly parted, and she found that her mouth was dry. "Nadir. I can't let this happen to Raoul."

He shook his head. "What can be done?"

"I know everything now. I have a friend who might be able to help expose the company. And once Raoul sees me alive and knows the story, I think that he would help. He has access to the offices. Maybe there's even a way to get them all to forget about you and Erik." Her voice grew more confident with each word, although Nadir was just staring at her. She looked down. "Is it impossible?" she asked. "Am I being ridiculous?"

"It is a long shot," he softly replied.

"But is it impossible?"

"Erik escaping from a maximum security prison was impossible."

She nodded in understanding. "I just…How can we keep running from place to place forever? It doesn't make any sense. Erik and you are going to end up dead. And I can't leave my friend like this. Even if I can't get anything else done, I want to get Raoul out of there."

"Christine." He sighed. "I could not encourage or forbid your actions. I would say it was ridiculous…but taking you to Asia or South America and hiding you forever is just as insane. We have limited options. I wish I could be of help to you."

She forced a smile at the half-hearted encouragement. "I'm really scared, Nadir. But I have to do something. Is there a train or something that goes to London?"

"There is a rail system, I believe. And buses. You would have to disguise yourself, though. It would be difficult for Erik and me to enter the city again…"

Christine shook her head. "I don't want you and Erik to get hurt. You should find someplace safe to stay. And I'll try to find a way to contact you if things get bad. The newspapers will probably say something about my appearance." She took a deep breath. "If I could just call Gavin… And if the two of us could get to Raoul…" She glanced up and noticed that Nadir's face was a little pale...and that he was no longer looking at her.

"_You cannot leave me!"_

The viciously hissed words caused her to jump up from her chair and whirl around with a gasp. "What? Erik! I'm not trying to…" She'd forgotten that his eyes could look like that, a fiery shade of orange-yellow.

"Erik. Calm down," stated Nadir, slowly rising from his seat. "No one is leaving you."

"Then what are you discussing?" he snarled.

She reached out a hand, but he jerked away from her. A moment passed before she could get the words out of her mouth. "I want to make it so we don't have to run away," she began, keeping her voice steady. "And Raoul's going to go to prison, and he hasn't done anything. And…"

You showed her that!" he raged at Nadir, taking a quick step past her as his eyes continued to burn.

She stepped in front of Mr. Khan. "Erik. I asked him to show me the article. But it's not just that. We shouldn't have to run forever. Maybe we could be safe if Raoul knows that I'm okay…if the company is brought down."

"So you are going back to him."

She shook her head in frustration. "Just to fix this."

"_It is over! It cannot be fixed! And you will not go back there!"_

"But Erik! It could be better for us if we-"

"You will not go back there!" he hissed. "You will come with me and not speak of it again! That boy has dug his own grave, and he can rot in it! We are leaving! You are mine! Mine! No matter how sick it makes you to look at him, you are Erik's!" He loomed over her, and she attempted to keep her feet planted, gambling everything on the idea that he wouldn't hurt her.

"Erik! Stop it!" she heard Nadir shout in uncontained anger. "I bet the boy never treated her as you just did. Now, calm down! You are acting horribly!" A sob escaped her throat as Erik stalked toward Mr. Khan with his hands in fists. Nadir took a step backwards into the wall but continued to glare. She watched in frozen horror as Erik reached out a bony hand toward Nadir's neck.

"Don't," she weakly choked out, tears streaming down her cheeks. "I didn't mean it to be like this. Please, Erik. You don't understand. Please listen to me!"

Dropping his hand, Erik turned around to look at her. He stared at her for several seconds, and Christine started to walk toward him with her arms outstretched. _If he would just let her touch him…_Within an unnatural instant, though, Erik disappeared from the room. She felt a cool breeze brush against her face as the back door silently opened and closed. All was quiet, save for her harsh breath and beating heart.

"Nadir," she whispered, falling into a chair and placing her face in her trembling hands. "I didn't mean for it to be like that…Oh, God…"

"Do not blame yourself," Nadir muttered in disgust. "He is acting like a five-year-old. But we're both alive, and that's always a plus." He sighed. "Erik hears what he wants to hear; he does not listen. When he asked me to go on his vengeance spree, he made it clear that he was in control. If I did not obey every word, I would be killed or abandoned. He hates to be out of control. Probably because he had absolutely no control for ten years."

"I just wanted to make things better for us." She miserably shook her head and looked at him. "You don't even completely believe me."

"After how Erik just behaved, I wouldn't blame you for hopping on the next train."

"No, Nadir. I'm not trying to go…I…" She broke down into sobs as the last weeks…the last months…the last few years fell heavily upon her shoulders and knocked her down into a heap of tears.

"Christine. I am so sorry," Nadir tiredly murmured, his wrinkles more evident on his aging face. "I am sorry we ever pulled you into this. It was wrong. It would have been better if…"

She shook her head. "But I love him," she choked out. "I do. I just wanted us to have a chance at some kind of life…" She continued to cry, the heaving sobs causing her lungs and stomach to ache.

When she was finally drained of tears and reduced to sniffling, she shakily got up and found a blanket. Then, she climbed back into the chair, draped it over her legs, and waited for him to come back.


	55. Hindsight

Thank you all for your comments! I don't have too much to say about this chapter. The next one will begin the action, though. Updates should continue to be regular. I'm glad that everyone said they would stick with the story, but I guess you guys knew that it wouldn't be all fluff and happiness when you started it :)

**Read and Review!!!**

The broad-shouldered young man was jogging down the sidewalk, a set of headphones covering his ears and a black timer hanging from his neck. The hood of his midnight blue sweatshirt bounced with each long step, and his dark blond hair fluttered in the light breeze. His breath was in time with his pace, and his hazel eyes were focused in front of him.

The shadow watched him from behind a tree trunk, his yellow eyes narrowing with hatred. The boy was coming closer to him with each step, unaware that his time on earth was very limited. Perhaps deep down the shadow knew that this wasn't _her_ boy, but the feel of the kill would do well enough.

The jogger continued to near the tree. He briefly slowed down and grunted as he adjusted his headset, before increasing his pace again.

The shadow's hand wrapped around the lasso as venom coursed through his veins. He felt nothing but icy jealousy. The hate kept the pain out of his chest, and the adrenaline from the hunt was suppressing the anguish. A hiss came from his throat as the boy began to pass him, and _he_ prepared every muscle in his body to strike. Soon he would hear a satisfying, musical _snap_!

The jogger's neck was in the perfect range now. The shadow remained motionless, one hand still gripping the sinuous weapon. Glancing to the left, the young man seemed to sense the presence of another. Turning his gaze forward again, he shrugged and continued on his way.

The lasso did not claim its victim.

The shadow could only watch as his prey abandoned him to his misery. A pained cry came from the back of his throat as the adrenaline faded and the thirst for death went unsatisfied. Clarity slowly returned, and he realized what he had almost done in his rage. Another strangled body would have given away their location.

But maybe it didn't matter if she was leaving him. Maybe it didn't matter whom he killed now.

What if she was gone when he returned? Would he madly search the world for her or hang himself? He hesitated, before lifting the lasso up and dropping the noose around his neck. He pulled it taut and took a shallow breath of cold air, wallowing in his self-pity for a moment. After removing the lasso and tucking it away, he began his walk back to the townhouse, his shoulders drooped and his pace slow.

Christine wanted to leave him; that was all he could comprehend. He should have killed de Chagny and taken Christine those many months ago. That would solve everything.

No. That wasn't true. She would have forever hated him if he murdered the damned boy.

He made no noise when he arrived and started to go to her bedroom and see if she had made her escape. The trip wasn't needed, though. Christine was curled up on a chair in the living area, sleeping with her head bent at an awkward, sideways angle. Her face was puffy and tear-streaked, and her eyes were darkly ringed. Although he made no sound as he silently looked down at her, the angel somehow sensed his presence. She opened her eyes and stiffly raised her head to look up at him, blinking several times. "Erik," she hoarsely whispered.

He said nothing, knowing that only screams and accusations would emerge from his hideous lips. "Erik," she repeated, pushing the blanket off her legs and standing. "You have to understand that I wasn't trying to leave you. I never meant to hurt you. All I wanted was for us to be safe…to stop running."

"De Chagny," he hissed, his fingers curling.

She nodded. "I don't want him to go to jail. He's been my friend for a long time. But after he sees that I'm safe, he'll leave us alone. Please, Erik. I never wanted to upset you." He just stood there, attempting to read her eyes. She hesitantly stepped forward and embraced his stiff form, and his shoulders slumped at the feel of her warm arms around his cold body. "I just wanted us to have a chance," she murmured.

"You cannot leave me," was all he could manage to mutter as his mind took in everything. The anger faded and was replaced by weariness and the slow realization that he wasn't losing everything.

She sighed and rested her cheek against his chest. "All right," she whispered in resignation. "I won't try…not if it hurts you so much. Why would I leave only to come back and find that you've…" She choked. "We'll just keep running. Maybe we will find somewhere safe…someday."

Slight relief overtook him at hearing those words, although an unpleasant knowledge tugged at his mind. The victory was bittersweet. He finally allowed his arms to rest around her back, his distorted mind able to almost believe her.

"You should go to bed," he softy stated. "It is nearly morning."

"All right." She stood on her toes and kissed his exposed jaw. "Goodnight." She started to walk away but paused and turned back around. "Erik. Please don't blame Nadir. It was all my idea…"

"I will not." She nodded, weakly smiled, and left. He heavily sat down and momentarily removed his mask to relieve the pressure on his face. Picking up a map of the city off the table, he started to chart more ways to escape. Feeling a presence behind him, he quickly tied the mask back on and turned to see his comrade standing there with his arms crossed. He glared and turned back to the map.

"Did you talk to her?" Nadir asked.

"She said she would not go," he curtly replied. "The matter is over."

"It is not over." Nadir sighed and took a seat. "She loves you. I will deny that no longer. But it is wrong to hide her away forever. She'll wither."

"She will be fine."

"Why don't you listen to her?" Nadir asked. "Maybe her plan was not perfect, but she did have a grand idea. What if there was a way to make people forget us?"

"Even if every crime I've committed was forgotten, I could not exist in society." He gestured to his face. "Have you forgotten that fact, Nadir?"

"I am not saying that you have to walk down the street in broad daylight! She just wants people to stop chasing us, so that she can go out sometimes and have some sort of life. She does not want the police coming to our door."

"I cannot let her go," he muttered, nearly wanting to throw his hands over his ears and leave again. He resisted the idea of using the lasso to silence his irritating companion, if only for Christine's sake.

"You have three choices, Erik," Nadir continued. "One would quickly kill you, one will slowly destroy her, and the other is…uncertain. Uncertainty is the best we can hope for right now."

"You expect me to let her go back there alone?" he growled. "You and I are wanted criminals, and no one will listen to a word she says now that she's been tainted by the _monster_."

"No! Of course not. I'm fully aware that she would be in some sort of danger."

"Then how is this inane idea supposed to work? She is a dear girl, and I would give everything for her. Everything, Nadir! But she does not understand what she is doing. She is too kind and innocent to know what she is up against."

Nadir hesitated. "Christine wishes to involve a third party. A friend of some sort that would not be wanted by the police."

He waved his hand to the side in dismissal. "It is ridiculous! She is going to end up being ripped away from me, and I won't have it! She is mine! I need her!" His voice cracked, and the wretched Iranian man grasped onto the sign of weakening.

"If she would get sick or injured, then what, Erik? We certainly could not take her to a hospital. Do you want to see her writhing in pain with no medical care? She will have no friends, no schooling, and no contact with the outside world. I am not asking you to let her go. I think she would be very upset if she had to leave you. I am just asking you to look at the possible options…for her sake."

_He_ leaned back into the seat and said nothing, an ache forming in his chest. His mind had firmly wrapped around the idea of forever escaping with her, of keeping her as his own to love and care for…of hiding from everyone else. The last few weeks were the best of his life in many ways. And he could not let the idea go.

Mr. Khan sighed and finally backed down. He glanced at the map and clenched his jaw. "Forgive me for asking," Nadir softly began. "But were there any victims of your temper tonight? Any reason we need to leave the area as soon as possible?" He paused and looked away. "I will not tell her if there are."

He looked his comrade directly in the eye. "No."

"Good."

* * *

"Dear boy. Whatever were you thinking?" Leonie asked, walking behind the swiveling chair so that she was no longer in Raoul's line of vision. She rested a slender hand on his shoulder. "Leaving like that? What did you expect the police to think?" Raoul squirmed, and she managed to hide her smile. 

Darrel snickered and leaned over the desk. "They would love you in prison," he stated with a grin. Raoul shuddered.

"Don't be cruel, Darrel," Leonie scolded, before turning back to the young man. "We need to work as a team."

"You said you'd get Christine back," Raoul angrily replied. "And now I'm caught up in this mess, and Christine is still gone! I was trying to find some information."

"Why do care so much about that girl?" she asked with exasperation. "Even if Christine did suddenly appear, she'd need specialized treatment. She'll be a complete disaster."

Raoul rubbed a hand over his face. "I don't care. I'd take care of her. Look. I just wanted to get away from the city for awhile. That's all!"

"Well, you wound up in prison for the night, didn't you?" she declared. "You're just lucky that they kept you separated from the other inmates. And now the police are suspicious of the entire company. And I just don't have time for this." She took a calming breath and subtly signaled Darrel with a flick of her wrist.

Darrel leaned in again, placing both hands on the edge of the desk and staring down at the boy with a sneer. "The worse you make yourself look, the harder it is for us to get you out of this. And the less we want to help you. Understand?" Raoul glared at him, although his face was becoming paler.

Leonie took her turn, now placing both hands tightly upon his shoulders from behind. She roughly massaged them. "Dear Raoul. If you don't cooperate with me, I'm going to have to act in the company's best interest. Now, I want to be your friend. I want you to be successful here. But I can't be friends with someone who's working against me."

"I'm not working against you!" he exclaimed. "I just want to know what the hell is going on!"

"Nothing is going on," she replied through gritted teeth. "There are just people who hate this company because of its success. The murder of that prisoner was random. They have no reason to blame it on us."

He sighed. "Fine. I'm sorry. I'll stay in the city. But you're going to keep searching for Christine, right?"

Darrel was about to say something rude, but she silenced him with a subtle shake of her head. "Of course we will," she murmured. "We'll do all we can." He nodded, and she withdrew. "I'll leave you to get settled and think things over. You can join us for lunch this afternoon, if you'd like." Raoul nodded again, avoiding her eyes.

She and Darrel walked out of the spacious office and into the empty corridor. "That was fun," Darrel stated. "Wasn't much of a challenge to intimidate him, though."

"I really don't know what he was thinking," Leonie replied. "What did he hope to find at Freddie's house? And now it makes us look suspicious. If he doesn't cooperate, I'll incriminate him myself." She pursed her lips and shook her head in disgust. They walked into a plush lounge. Leonie checked to make sure that no one else was around, before sitting on a leather sofa and smoothing out her slacks.

"Are you really going to keep searching for that girl?" Darrel leaned back against a wooden wall that was trimmed with gold along the edges.

Leonie shrugged. "I'd love to see the creature dead, but I'm not expending valuable resources to find him." She tilted her chin. "It's a pity, really," she murmured. "If I had known the monster was so persistent and invincible, I would have made use of him long ago."

"What do you mean?"

"He could have been my trained attack dog." The corners of her lips twitched upward. "Sit. Stay. Kill. Imagine how much a creature like that could get done. He's nearly superhuman…and also subhuman. A remorseless, murderous machine."

"How exactly would you control a 'pet' like that?"

"I was an attractive woman, even in my later years," she replied. "I could have faked compassion, given him little rewards when he was a good boy. I think he would have done whatever I wanted under certain circumstances. But hindsight is always perfect."

Darrel chuckled and walked up behind her, placing his hands on her shoulders and bringing his lips to her ear. "Are you infatuated with him, love?"

She reached back and pushed him away from her. "I said he would have been a good pet. Don't be disgusting."

"Leonie's pet monster." Darrel snorted. "I have to say that you're an interesting woman." He took a seat across from her in an armchair, putting his hands behind his head and leaning back. "So what next?"

"That depends on the boy. If he cooperates, I'll pull him through this mess. We'll continue to prosper. If he doesn't cooperate, he can go to prison. And I'll have to find someone else."

"And the monster?"

"If he's disappeared forever, then I don't really care. Maybe now that he has a little blonde doll to play with, he'll be a good boy. If he shows up again, I'll be prepared."

Darrel clicked his tongue. "I apologize again that my friend and I weren't able to be rid of him when he was a child. I was only twenty-four…maybe a bit young for the job. It turned into a mess. We only got his mother."

She sweetly smiled. "You've been dependable ever since then, Darrel. I hold nothing against you."

"Whatever happened to my friend?" he asked with a chuckle. "Old Bruce? I haven't heard from him in years." Leonie bit her lip and averted her eyes. "You had him killed?" he asked with disgust. "Why? He was a funny guy!"

Leonie scoffed. "I didn't kill him! I told you. I do things like that as little as possible."

"Then what happened?"

She hesitated and brushed a piece of white fuzz off the sleeve of her grey sweater. "The monster murdered him several years ago. It was very gruesome. Have you seen someone with their intestines dangling out of their body while they hang from a noose? Horrid sight."

Darrel turned green. "Demented freak of nature," he muttered. "That poor girl. Do you think she's still alive?"

Leonie shrugged. "Who knows? But she'd probably be better off dead."

* * *

Her awakening was too abrupt for her to remember any dreams this time. Sitting straight up, Christine blinked and saw no one in her room. A period of silence passed, and she wondered what had startled her into consciousness. Hearing three thundering knocks in the distance, she jumped out of bed and was at her bedroom door in three steps. She walked out into the narrow hallway. The little light that peaked through a nearby window told her that it was at least late morning. 

Two more knocks sounded at the front door, and her heart began to race with fright. "Christine." Erik stepped out from behind a corner, his muscles tense and his eyes flaring. His dark jacket was gone, and the plain white dress shirt seemed to hang over his emaciated frame. She wondered if he'd been trying to sleep. Nadir stepped out of his room and looked between them.

"What's going on?" she asked, out of breath as she looked toward the door. "Who's there?"

"More neighbors," Erik replied with disdain. "Or perhaps they have brought the police to investigate." He glared at Nadir. "I told you to keep the lights off at night!"

"Is anybody in there?" called a gruff voice from outside.

"We should go to the basement," murmured Nadir, motioning for her to follow. Erik took a step toward the door, and she knew what he was clutching in his right hand.

"Erik. Come down with us," she softly pled. He looked down at her with conflicted eyes. "Please."

The silver doorknob twisted and shook, and the door rattled. "Open up if you're there!"

She reached out and gripped onto Erik's hand. "Please. I don't want you to get hurt."

"Fine," he whispered, still gripping the lasso. "Move quickly!" He opened the door to the basement, and they raced down into the darkness. Only a little light filtered through the dusty windows near the ceiling.

"Should we try to climb out?" Nadir asked.

"It is daylight," Erik replied, retreating into the farthest corner. "We will wait to see if they come inside before we take such a risk." Christine closed her eyes and stayed beside Erik, praying that they wouldn't enter. He tightly held her hand and watched the door, listening to the activity above.

"Erik," she murmured after a moment, her voice shaking. "If they do come down, let me stay. They won't hurt me. You and Nadir should run."

He squeezed her hand. "I will not leave you."

"I don't want you to get hurt," she pled.

"I will not let them touch you."

"Erik!" she exclaimed in a whisper, wishing he would be reasonable. "They think I'm your hostage! They wouldn't hurt me. But it would kill me if anything happened to you!" Her entire body was trembling, and her eyes were blurred with tears. Every time that hope had been offered, it had been jerked away from her fingertips. All security was false, and peace was non-existent. And the more she loved him, the more she was sure that he was going to be ripped away from her.

She could see the scene in her mind. She could see Erik collapsing as a policeman's bullet struck his chest. Between law enforcement and the media, she wouldn't be able to run to his side. She wouldn't even be able to hold him in her arms during his last moments because the world would be too intent on celebrating the death of the 'monster.' A choked sob escaped her throat as the visions played in slow-motion through her head. She felt someone catch her underneath her arms as she sank to her knees, the floor frigid beneath her cotton pajama pants.

"Christine." She heard Erik's voice beside her and saw that he was kneeling. "Christine. Do not cry. I hear them no more. We are fine."

"We will still need to leave soon," Nadir muttered. "As soon as possible. They know that someone was here. They're probably just getting permission to enter from the real owner."

"Assuming they do not come back today, we will leave as soon as it is dark," Erik grimly replied. Nadir walked to the door and put his ear against it, ensuring that they were safe. She felt Erik's fingers gently run up and down her back. He stared at her for a long moment, his eyes distant. "Withered," he muttered beneath his breath, reaching out and cupping her chin in his hand.

"What?" she softly asked, slowly calming from her terror. "I'm okay. I just…I thought they were going to come in."

His shoulders moved up and down with each slow breath. "You are not happy," he murmured.

She swallowed, her throat thick with tears. "Well, I…"

"Your honesty will not anger me."

Christine hesitated. She doubted that she could ever keep from angering him, but the truth just seemed too important at that moment. If he would just listen to her…"It's hard to be happy when I'm always afraid that someone's going to hurt us."

"If there were no danger…"

"I think we could be happy," she whispered, smiling through her tears. What else was there left to believe in? What other hope could she cling to? "We'd at least have a chance."

He stared down and gently lifted her hand. She could feel Nadir watching them both from beside the door. "You will never take your ring off?" he asked, his voice wearier than she had heard it in some time. "No matter _who_ you see, you will keep your ring?"

"I'll never take it off," she replied, holding his shaking hand.

"You have never betrayed Erik before. If you did, he does not know what he would do." It was not a threat.

She placed her hands on the upper parts of his arms, her fingers nearly wrapping all the way around the thin limbs. Without the dark coat of his suit, he appeared more vulnerable…frail. "Erik. I would never betray you. I would never leave."

He lifted the bottom portion of his mask and kissed her forehead. After another second, he stood and offered her his hand. She took it and rose to stand beside him, waiting for the purpose behind their conversation. She could hear painful effort in his next question, as though each word was searing his tongue. "What is it that you want?"


	56. Gavin's Tango

Here's a chapter that's from Gavin's POV. Some parts may go a little slow, but I think you'll enjoy certain parts. For those of you who read "Of Threnodies," there is a slightly similar scene. It wasn't intentional but just the way things reasonably progressed. And nothing else is going to be similar.

Thank you so much for all your comments and insight into this story. Sometimes you guys have me looking at events from angles that I hadn't considered. I can tell that I have very intelligent readers :)

**Read and Review!!!**

Despite his determination to stay calm and collected, Gavin could feel his nerves begin to gnaw at his stomach. His heart thudded with anticipation as he climbed into the elevator, and he continuously went over what he wanted to say in his head. The first interview had gone well, and, weeks later, they had called him in for a second round. If he could just stay focused, he could grab this opportunity.

For much of his short life, he'd been fairly laid back. He'd declared himself a liberal since high school and taken up all the political stances that went with that, but he'd never been one of the guys marching through the streets with a hand-painted sign. Like a lot of people, he felt too small to make much of a difference and contented himself with just complaining about the country's problems. In college, journalism had finally awoken him from his indifferent adolescent stupor. He loved digging through piles of information for that one fact that might be useful, and he enjoyed pulling all the facts together to form a coherent story.

He'd considered being an independent journalist, but that was risky and didn't bring in much money. If he were still a bachelor, he'd be content with a one-bedroom apartment, leaky roof, and occasional visit from an insect. With Marisol, though, that just wasn't possible. She wasn't spoiled, but she naturally wanted the basic comforts of life, like air conditioning and a dish washer. Gavin was happy to try to give them to her and also found himself considering that they'd have a family one day. Of course, he had to start small and be practical. He couldn't tell his wife that he refused to go to work because they didn't let him wear jeans.

And so here he was in the offices of the _Boston Herald _at eight o'clock in the morning, trying to snatch the position and make his lovely wife proud.

As he arrived at the right office, he waved once at the secretary and took a seat, his heart continuing its quick rhythm. He tugged at his collar and straightened his tie, praying that he wouldn't mumble or accidentally utter something obscene. His hands were a little cold, and he rubbed them together, not wanting his handshake to leave a bad impression.

When his cell phone rang, Gavin rolled his eyes. Marisol and his few close friends knew that he was at an interview; it was probably a telemarketer or a wrong number. Sure enough, he didn't recognize the caller. The number had more than ten digits, which meant that it might be an international call. He hesitated, before deciding to answer out of sheer curiosity. He kept his voice at a low volume. "Hello?"

A brief paused followed. In the background, Gavin could hear a soft whirring noise, and he wondered if he was going to get a recording. Then, she softly spoke. "Hi, Gavin."

He gaped, and his eyes widened. The secretary glanced at him, and he jumped up and walked out into the hall. "Christine?" he loudly whispered, once no one else was around.

"Yeah. It's me." She nervously laughed, perhaps sensing his shock. "How are you?"

"I think you need to answer that question!" he retorted, half in shock and half in relief. "Where are you? It's all over the news! I didn't-I didn't even know if you were alive!"

"Can anyone hear you?" she cautiously asked.

"No. Not now. I'm at an interview."

"Oh. I'm sorry! Do you want me to try and call later or-"

"No! No!" he exclaimed. "Stay on the line. Where are you?"

"It's a long story," she replied. Her voice sounded tired. "I can only stay on for a few minutes right now."

"Are you in danger? Should I call the police?"

"No! Don't call the police." Gavin suddenly heard a strange voice in the background, and she quickly spoke back to the other person. "No. It's okay. He's not calling the police. I promise." The other person said something that Gavin couldn't understand, but he didn't think that her companion sounded too happy. "Gavin," Christine began again. "I just…You might be able to help me."

"What do you want me to do?"

"It's hard to explain right now. Is there any possible way that you could come here? To England?"

Her request made his heart jump. From somewhere down the hall, he heard the secretary call his name. Gavin stuck his head around the corner. "Be there in a second!" he called.

"In a second?" Christine asked.

"No," he quickly replied, more flustered by the moment. "I was talking to someone else. England? I don't know. Why? What can I do there?"

"It's really complicated. But you can help…" She paused. "You can help expose some really terrible people. Maybe save some lives…and stop some horrible things from happening. You can help me."

"I…" He attempted to sort his thoughts. The secretary called his name again, and he cringed. "Just cancel my appointment!" he exclaimed through gritted teeth. "I have a…family emergency." The woman pursed her lips, before nodding and scribbling something down.

"Gavin?" asked Christine. "Will you help?" Her voice quivered, and he knew that something was very wrong. She must have been really desperate to depend on his novice skills.

"Maybe," he finally stated. "Where? When?" A bumping sound echoed in the background, and the strange voice muttered something. "Who's there with you?"

"I'll call you again," she frantically replied. "Really soon. I have to go now. Please don't tell anyone! Thank you so much!"

"Are you sure you're okay? Hello?" The line was already dead, though. Gavin left the phone on in anticipation of her future call and tucked it back into his coat pocket. He considered trying to get his appointment back but was almost afraid to tie himself down to anything. What if they wanted him to start work immediately?

He numbly walked down the hall and pushed the button for the elevator. Once inside, he ran a hand through his shaggy hair and leaned back against the wall, taking a calming breath and attempting to sort his thoughts. Now what? At least she was alive. Her companion couldn't be the serial killer if she was allowed to make phone calls, right? _Right?_ Crap. What the heck was he supposed to tell his wife about the interview?

Gavin drove to a small café and ordered coffee and a Belgian waffle, sitting away from the other customers so that he could hear the phone. Despite his attempt to relax, the caffeine only made his anxiety worse. When he got back to his apartment, he told his wife that the interview went well, and that was the first in a string of sparkly little lies. Marisol kissed his cheek and told him how proud she was, thereby officially making him feel guilty.

The second call finally came late that afternoon, while he was returning some books to the library. Startled by the ring tone, Gavin dropped one of the hardbacks into a mud puddle. He picked the book up, quickly shook it off, and shoved it into the narrow slot. Then, he answered his phone. "Hello?" he asked, attempting to catch his breath.

"Hey!" Christine replied, relief in her voice. The background was quiet this time.

"Christine." He inhaled and sat down on a concrete step.

"I'm sorry about last time. We have to keep moving a lot so that no one finds us." Gavin didn't even know what question to ask first, and she seemed to sense this. "I know it's really confusing. I promise that I'll explain later. But…are you coming?"

He sighed. "Are you in trouble?"

"Yes," she murmured. "I didn't know what else to do. I know you're married and settled down. I just…I really need help, Gavin. You're the only one that I thought I could trust."

"Where are you?"

"Around Manchester," she whispered. "There's an airport here. It's a huge city, and no one will notice you. We just need to find somewhere to meet."

"Manchester," he muttered. "Is someone with you? Or are you alone?"

She hesitated. "Someone's with me."

"Who?"

"I'll tell you later," she quickly replied, which did nothing to calm his nerves. "If you come…" Her tone was growing shriller. He knew that if he didn't agree to go, she would probably disappear off the face of the earth. Plus, intense curiosity was beginning to trickle into his mind, no matter how hard he tried to ignore it. Gavin tried to think rationally, but neither choice seemed right. He finally decided that saying _no _would ultimately give him the most regrets, especially if she did wind up dead.

"All right," he replied after another moment. "I'll try to get out there. I don't know when I can get a flight or a room. Can I call you on your cell phone?"

"No. I'm not using my cell phone." She sounded happier, as though a weight had been dragged off her shoulders. "It's too easy to trace. I'll call you back tomorrow. Is that okay?"

"Yeah. All right." He scratched the back of his head and watched some kids pass on their bicycles. "Christine. I'm really confused."

"I know," she softly replied. "But thank you so much for helping. I'm so sorry about this. I just…Thank you! It means so much…" She choked with relief and then lightly laughed. "Who knows? It might even help your career."

Gavin chuckled. "Heh. That'd be…nice." His tone grew serious again. "But you're welcome, Christine. I'll try to help. We'll get through…whatever's going on."

"Yeah. I hope so," she distantly murmured. "Well. I'd better go again." Christine sighed. "I'm so tired of running. I…Never mind. I'll talk to you tomorrow. Thank you again!" As before, the line quickly went dead. The hollow tone matched the feeling in the pit of his stomach.

After a minute, he went into the library to find a computer and look up flight schedules. This time of year wasn't that busy, and nothing was overcrowded. Plenty of hotels were available throughout the city, but he decided to try and grab a room near the airport. Christine didn't make it clear where she wanted him to go, and Gavin couldn't help but wonder if she even knew what she was doing.

As the library began to close for the evening, he jotted down a couple of flight numbers and hotels. During the drive back home, he planned what he was going to say to his wife. The truth was impossible, as he didn't even know what was going on. He didn't want to mention Christine. Marisol would be nothing short of disturbed if he said he was going to visit with some other girl that was supposed to be missing. At best, his wife would want to call the police.

Marisol was putting up dishes when he came inside, and she turned to him and smiled as he came into the kitchen. Her smile faded as she saw his expression. "What's wrong?"

Gavin took a deep breath, keeping his gaze just to the left of his wife's. "Well. Nothing's wrong. I just found out that I have to go to England, though. For my new internship. It's a special assignment."

Her mouth dropped open. "You haven't even been chosen! How can they send you away already?"

He walked over and put a hand on her shoulder. "Maybe I have been chosen, and they want to test my skills. It's good experience."

"But you just started!" she exclaimed, stepping away from him. "They can't send you overseas!"

"Marisol. It's England, not a war zone."

"Yes. Well, I'm sure if it was a war zone, you'd be right there in front with the troops." She turned her back toward him, her head tilted downward.

Gavin reached out again. She wasn't usually this moody. "It's only for a short time. Probably a week at the most."

Her shoulders drooped, and she sighed. "I just don't want you to go away all the time. I have all these friends, and their husbands are always gone on business or male bonding or whatever. We just got married."

Gavin stepped forward and wrapped her in a tight hug. "This is it for a long time. I really, really have to make this trip. Just this once."

She was quiet for several long seconds. "All right," she finally replied, turning and accepting his embrace. "You have to go for work, I know." She looked up. "When are you leaving?"

"Probably the day after tomorrow," he stated. She gaped again. "It's a new, unexpected assignment." He gently kissed her cheek and neck as guilt rained over him. "I promise that this will be it for awhile. Just one trip. I'll make sure of that."

She nodded, appearing as though she wanted to say something else. Her mouth closed, though, and she just leaned into his chest for a moment, before going back to the dishes. They loudly clattered together as she stacked them into the cupboard. Knowing there was nothing more to say, Gavin left to get ready.

He packed his clothes and got his passport in order. He was thankful that he was currently unemployed and that his work with the university was minimal; never again would he be this free. Maybe this strange little adventure would quench his thirst before he entered the real world.

Questions continuously passed through his mind as he made final arrangements for the flight and hotel. Paranoia also popped up. As he was putting some letters into his mailbox, Gavin swore that he saw a dark shape move in the corner of his vision. When he turned, nothing was there, and he attributed the creepy illusion to nerves. He blamed car headlights when he again saw the figure while taking out the trash.

Christine called the evening after he had last talked to her. He stepped out of his house with the phone for privacy and shivered in the frigid air, ignoring all the shifting shadows. "How's it going?" she softly asked, a note of hope in her voice. "You're still coming, right?"

"Yeah," he replied, leaning back against the complex. "I've got it arranged for tomorrow, and I should be there the next morning. My hotel is near the airport. Is that okay?"

She hesitated. "Yeah. That sounds fine. We'll find somewhere to talk."

He gave her the approximate time of his arrival, and they agreed to meet after dark on one of the streets between the airport and the hotel. If they couldn't find each other, she would try to call his phone. If she ran into trouble, he would go to his room and wait for information. Or as Christine put it, "_Someone_ will contact you."

Their conversation was hesitant, as though both knew that they were taking a step into very unknown territory. They hung up with as many details finalized as possible, and she thanked him several more times for his help. Gavin headed off to bed with his mind full of questions and doubts. He wanted to love his wife before he left, but she kept her distance throughout the night, and Gavin contented himself with putting an arm around her shoulders. His sleep was uneasy.

Marisol allowed him to give her a long kiss goodbye the following afternoon, her eyes still uncertain. Again she acted as though she wanted to say something but remained silent. He kissed her one last time and headed off to catch his taxi to Logan, leaving her with her arms wrapped around her waist. If he hadn't gone, though, he still would have felt guilty. It was the choice between a temporarily lonely wife, and a possibly dead friend. He also couldn't deny that curiosity was plaguing his mind. What if he was on the verge of some huge, exciting secret? Wasn't this what he'd always wanted to do? Of course, there was always that possibility that Christine Daae was crazy, and he prayed that wasn't the case.

As he arrived at the airport and stepped into the line for his ticket, he saw the black shape again. This time, he caught sight of the back of an actual person. A man in a long, dark coat with the collar pulled up to his chin was walking back out the door, brown boots silent against the tiles. Gavin stared and stretched his neck to get a better view, but he was unable to see without stepping out of line. His heart thudded quickly, and he began to wonder what he had just gotten himself into.

Travel was uneventful after that, though. He caught a connecting flight in New York, and that was the only stop in between. Save for a bit of turbulence near the end, the ride was smooth. He kept his laptop out and played on it for awhile, listening to calming music or sleeping for the other part of the nighttime ride. The chicken and rice at dinner was overly-salted, but that was to be expected.

After arriving and displaying his passport, he collected his one piece of luggage and bought a cup of coffee to wake himself up. Gavin walked through a light drizzle to his multi-story hotel and checked in, still having some time to waste before dark. His room was basic but comfortable, and he collapsed onto the single bed to watch television and doze. Christine's ex-fiancé was on the news, and the guy looked upset. Gavin tried to listen but couldn't get enough information to understand the story; it hadn't made the headlines back home. Still, the event gave him some reassurance that he was approaching something big.

When sunset-not that there was any sun to begin with- finally came around six, Gavin stepped outside and shivered in the cold, moist air. Other travelers were walking on all sides of him, which lessened the eerie feeling he was beginning to develop. He began the journey toward the street, pausing and looking for his friend every so often. Every blonde woman gave him an irritated glance when he stopped and stared at them.

He took out his cell phone to check for calls, wondering if she had run into a barrier or gotten lost. To his dismay, he realized that he didn't even have service. As he glanced back up, he saw a young, brown-haired woman walking toward him. It took him several seconds to realize that the skinny brunette was _her_. She stopped several feet in front of him and slightly smiled, her blue eyes weary and darkly-ringed.

"Christine." His throat was dry from the walk. "You dyed your hair."

She softly laughed. "It's just a wig."

"Oh." He slowly opened his arms to her, feeling relief at seeing her alive. She hesitated and glanced to the side. After a second, she finally stepped forward and embraced him. Her frame felt thinner than he remembered, and her cheeks were a little white. "Well, Ms. Daae. I didn't know if I'd ever see you again."

"It's been a strange couple of months," she replied. "Thank you so much for coming out here."

"It was no problem. I-" Suddenly, Gavin heard a sound beside his ear. A half-hissing, half-growling noise seemed to come from right behind him, and he pulled away from Christine and rapidly looked around for the source. No one else was near them, though. "What was that sound?" he asked, his ear still ringing. A shudder traveled through him.

She bit her lip and took a few steps backward. "I didn't hear anything."

He rubbed his ear and glanced back again. "Huh. Weird." Gavin brushed the incident aside. "So…what's going on out here in jolly old England?"

"Oh, Gavin," she whispered, shaking her head. "It's such a long story. I'll tell you when we can sit down."

"Where are we going?"

Christine hesitated. "Someplace quiet. Maybe there's a bench or something."

"We could go-" Gavin stopped speaking as he noticed two little stars. Well, not stars. The sky was cloudy, and the shining yellow lights came from behind a shadowed building. "What the-?"

"What's wrong?"

"I saw two weird lights…"

"Probably just security lights or something," she replied, beginning to walk forward with her hands in her coat pockets.

His stomach flip-flopped as the lights disappeared and the shadows shifted. "Christine." He grabbed her by the shoulder, beginning to get goose bumps. "I think someone's following us!"

"We're fine."

Gavin shook his head in frustration. "You're the one who's being searched for. You're not the least bit concerned that someone's following us? After all you've been through? There's someone out here!"

"Gavin!" she exclaimed with exasperation, turning around to face him. "I can't explain everything. Just…we're fine right now. I promise. We're being protected. That's what the yellow lights are. We're safe with them. Please. Let's go somewhere to talk."

She was very sensitive about something. But if Christine wasn't afraid of the shadows and the yellow lights, then why should he be? Right? Gavin wearily sighed and walked beside her. "Anyway…I was going to say we could talk at the hotel. It'd be safe…and a lot warmer than this. No one would know you were there."

Christine stopped walking and thoughtfully pursed her lips. "You're right," she murmured. "That would be the safest for me." She glanced into the shadows. "I'll be right back." Before he could blink, she had rushed away and disappeared. Gavin swallowed and waited, thankful that a few other travelers continued to walk by him. She finally came back with a small frown. "Yeah. Let's go to the hotel. That's the most sensible thing to do…"

"Is something wrong?"

She shook her head and hugged her arms to her chest. "No. I'm fine."

A presence continued to hover around him as they walked toward the looming brightly-lit building. Frankly, Gavin got the feeling that Christine's little yellow lights didn't like him that much, especially when they again growled at him as he stepped inside the hotel. "_Watch your step with her, _boy," hissed a voice directly into his ear.

He jumped in surprise but again saw nothing as he glanced back into the darkness. Shaking his head, Gavin looked down as Christine passed by him, noticing a golden ring on her finger. By no measure was it the flashy diamond that Raoul de Chagny had given her. "Christine. We _really_ need to talk."


	57. Promises

This is kind of a high drama chapter. Before they start in on the real enemy, though, I think all the characters need to face their own internal battles. I hope you enjoy the chapter. Thank you as always for your feedback.

**Read and Review!!!**

Nadir sighed and stepped backward as Erik paced, his pale hands balled into gnarled fists and his back slightly hunched. Every so often, a muttered phrase would come from behind the mask, and Nadir was sure that his companion was cursing in at least three different languages. Christine and her friend had now been in the hotel for twenty minutes.

Erik glanced toward the building and stopped pacing. "I am going to check on their well-being," he calmly stated.

"You're going to go in there?" asked Nadir, attempting to keep his voice steady. "Please let the girl and her friend be. They are just talking."

"I will merely find their window," he replied. "I wish to ensure that she is safe."

"That young man has no interest in her outside of trying to help. They are likely figuring out how to save our sorry selves."

Erik glared. "He will still try to keep her away from me after he knows _what_ I am. And I will not have it!" His eyes flared. "I should have never allowed this! She has no idea what she is doing!"

Nadir shook his head and leaned against a wall, knowing that nothing he said was going to make a difference. "She's come a long way to find you. I don't think that anyone could convince her to leave you."

"Well, you have thankfully failed in doing so!" Erik snapped back. Then, he was gone, likely to make sure that the young man was keeping his hands to himself.

Nadir was glad that Christine had found a safe place, if only for the night. They'd been moving from one location to the next over the last several days, staying everywhere from storage sheds to a department store to a boarded-up library. Food had come from the back of restaurants and vending machines, and they had fortunately never resorted to eating garbage. After coming closer to the airport, they had left the car in a dark parking garage with the hope that no one would notice, leaving no forms of identity inside.

Christine had found phones to contact her friend and taken the risk of calling the operator to get foreign codes. Several times, Erik looked like he was about to change his mind, but a gentle plea from Christine always silenced him. And perhaps Erik knew just by looking at the girl's gaunt face that her health would fade under these conditions.

There were also times of tenderness throughout the anxiety. The previous night, Mr. Khan had watched Erik take the girl into his arms and let her sleep against his shoulder. They were both leaning against the wall of the deserted library, clutching onto each other for six straight hours. Despite the protruding bones of Erik's body, she seemed to doze comfortably. Erik didn't move a muscle the entire time he was holding her.

The more that Christine gave Erik, though, the harder it was for him to part with her. The memory of the previous night had likely made Erik more livid as he watched her walk with her friend. Nadir had been preparing to hold Erik back when they hugged, but his comrade had somehow managed to control himself. Thankfully, Gavin kept his distance from Christine for the most part, and Nadir could see the glimmer of a wedding ring on his finger. Of course, Erik was still certain that the 'grinning oaf' was out to destroy everything.

Nadir waited in the shadows for Erik to return, rubbing his tired eyes with his palm. After nearly thirty minutes, he finally saw the familiar looming silhouette. "Well?" he asked.

"They are talking at a suitable distance," Erik curtly replied, folding his hands together.

Nadir nodded. "Allah forbid that he attempt to hug her again."

"I would kill him."

"I am sure he will prove himself trustworthy."

Erik paused. "He has so far."

"What do you mean by that?"

Erik ignored the question. "We will find somewhere close to wait for her."

Nadir followed, feeling his joints ache with each step. The cold air was making his hands red and sore, and he would have liked nothing more than a warm room at that hotel. He supposed that Christine deserved the luxury more than anyone else, though.

Mr. Khan hoped that the piece of paper he'd given her two nights ago would be of help in her mission. He was just thankful that he'd rescued it from the floors of the subway tunnels before Erik got the chance to destroy another piece of the past.

* * *

Every muscle in her body had relaxed when she saw Gavin standing in the middle of the sidewalk with a lost look on his face. It was as though she had taken a long jump out of the chaos. Christine needed someone from the outside to give her perspective, someone with no emotional ties or vendettas or connections to the past. If he told her that the situation was truly hopeless, at least she would have the truth. 

The hotel room was warm with the familiar sweet scents of cleaning chemicals and air freshener. She took a deep breath, enjoying the mundane sights of a television and a clean bathroom. "Do you want anything to eat or drink?" Gavin asked, switching on a dim lamp. "There are some vending machines down the hall. The café downstairs might be open."

"No, thanks. I'm okay right now." She took a seat in one of the cushioned desk chairs and leaned back

Gavin glanced toward the window and slightly skewed blinds. "Are we still being watched?"

"I don't think so." She knew that Gavin was curious. She just didn't want to have to explain Erik without first giving her friend some of the history.

Her gaze drifted toward the window, and she wondered if Erik was somehow spying on them. He'd nearly had a stomping fit when she spoke of going into the hotel with Gavin. Only with Nadir's help could she convince him that the location was safest. With his arms folded and his chin high in the air, Erik had warned that he'd tear off Gavin's head if 'the wretched boy' tried anything. Nadir had groaned, and she had walked back to her friend with a frown of frustration.

Gavin sat down across from her, startling her out of her thoughts. He briefly tapped his fingers on the table, before reaching over and picking up his laptop. She watched as he opened it and turned it on, his mouth in a calm line and his eyes tired. Her heart thudded anxiously as the computer went through a series of high-pitched _beeps. _Gavin glanced at her, and she gave a weak smile. "Well," he began with a soft chuckle. "I guess we can begin. Unless you want to grab an armchair and catch some sleep. You look pretty tired."

"No. Well, I'd like to sleep, but I guess I'd better begin." She paused and listened to the distant sound of an ambulance siren. Gavin just sat there with his hands folded. She wondered if he'd been trained to be this composed, or if it was just his personality. "I'll start with my kidnapping," she murmured. "That'd make the most sense."

He nodded. "Sounds good. I've always been curious."

Christine began, looking away as she tried to remember the significant events of that dark time. She downplayed her fear and placed Erik in a better light. The last thing she wanted was for Gavin to see Erik as monstrous, but Erik had been very cold-blooded back then. Her friend nodded throughout, his eyes significantly widening toward the end of her captivity. He'd leaned in slightly from his relaxed pose. "Wow," he murmured. "It's nothing like I thought it was. Really surreal and eerie. Thank God you were a good singer! Otherwise…" He shook his head.

She nodded. "But Erik let us go that night. And I don't think it was just because of my voice. And…well…" He waited for her to continue. Christine went on to tell him about last autumn, and he quickly sat up with alarm, likely recalling the hotel room he had helped her rent.

"Why did you want to help him?" Gavin asked. "Why not get the police? I mean…I would have been freaked out if my kidnapper popped up out of nowhere."

Christine sighed. "I don't know. I did care about him at that time. He was the reason I was singing. And he wasn't threatening me! I had to beg him to stay." She paused and looked down. This was going nowhere, and Gavin was naturally beginning to categorize Erik as the villain and her as the victim. "Before I say any more about what happened this year, let me tell you the background."

A faint light of understanding finally came into Gavin's eyes as she went through what she knew of Erik's early years. Christine was relieved when he only seemed a little startled at her mention of Erik's face, even if she didn't go into complete detail. She relaxed and became more animated as she talked about the company and the attempted murder, the volume of her voice rising. Gavin started to quickly type at this point, shaking his head in disbelief and glancing at her every so often. He only stopped her when she attempted to go back to the present. "Woah! Wait. So Erik went to prison for a crime he didn't commit. Got that. What happened afterward? He got out about six years ago, right?"

She bit her lip. "You want to know if what you've seen on the news is true…"

"It would help to know everything."

Christine sighed, knowing this was no time for lies. "Yes. He escaped, and a lot of people died. He got revenge on the main members of the company and some others. I don't…know all the details. I know some of it was gruesome." She looked at her hands. "But…I know they hurt him a lot in prison, Gavin. They burned his skin, and God knows what else. I mean, ten years in there! His mind was really damaged, and it wasn't his fault. But he's getting better. I know he is!" She wiped a tear off her cheek and glanced up, eyes pleading for understanding.

She couldn't read Gavin's expression, but he placed a hand on her lower arm. "It's okay," he softly stated. "I'm just trying to get the facts right now, all right? I just need to understand this." She nodded. "Do you want some water?" She nodded again, feeling a thick bubble in her throat.

He stood up and took a water bottle from a cabinet. "Don't you have to pay a lot for those?" she softly asked.

He shrugged and popped it open. "Yeah. But what's another couple of pounds after a couple thousand dollars?"

Christine softly groaned. "I promise I'll pay you back one day."

"Don't worry about it right now. If what you're telling me is true, someone's going to get rich off this story. I mean...these people are more like organized crime than anything else. You have to wonder what else went on." He grimaced. "Like what happened to all the babies that didn't survive. They must have really paid off some people."

She murmured her thanks as he handed her the water, finding the cool liquid soothing. After a few sips, she finished the story with her trip to England and encounters with Leonie and Frederick. Gavin stopped typing when she told him of her escape into the tunnels and final decision to run away. "Christine…you're a little crazy. But pretty damn brave." He leaned back and stared at the screen in bewilderment. "It's far beyond anything I was imagining. Wow. I can see why you needed help."

"Is there anything we can do?" she asked, keeping her voice calm. "Is this hopeless?"

Gavin rubbed a hand over his mouth. "What do you want to happen?" he finally asked.

"I want the company exposed so that they can't hurt anyone else. I want Raoul out of that mess because I know he hasn't done anything wrong. And I want Erik, Nadir, and I to be left alone. I want us to be able to escape without the fear of being caught."

He slowly nodded. "The first two things really need to happen. If all of this is true, these people need to be brought down and sent to prison. Their assets need to be distributed to whatever victims are left. But…Erik." Gavin paused. "That's a little more complicated. He's…well, he's killed a lot of people. And it's been all over the news."

"He has," she whispered. The fact was painful to talk about and acknowledge; she'd gotten good at forgetting about it. "But not for awhile. He hasn't had much of a choice sometimes."

"I know. I know he probably went through ten years of hell. It's just that…" He exhaled, and she could tell that he was struggling to be gentle. "It's just that society isn't too great about forgiving murderers of that degree. I'm not saying these aren't really strange circumstances. But even if all of the charges against the company were proven true, Erik would be seen as someone who went way too far to retaliate."

She swallowed. "But if they see me alive, they'll stop searching for Erik. Maybe everyone will forget him. Maybe we can convince everyone that he died. Anything!"

"But can he…." Gavin tapered off and glanced away from her.

"What?" she asked, slight bitterness entering her tone. "Control himself? Well, I'm still alive. Raoul's still alive!"

"I know. And I'm thankful. I understand. But some of things he's done…the furnace thing…"

"Gavin!" she exclaimed. "I don't need you judging me about this. Not when everyone else already is. If you're not going to help me save Erik, then I can't stay. We'll just keep running until we're safe." She prepared to stand up. It would be hard to walk out on help, but she wasn't going to watch Erik fall into another trap. And if Gavin didn't understand, then no one would.

He rubbed his temples. "All right. All right. Just let me have some time for it to sink in. Let's talk about the other stuff. We need proof of all this…documents or witnesses or anything."

She warily stared at him. "Promise me you'll do nothing to hurt Erik first."

Gavin sighed. "I promise. I'll completely leave his name out of it. We'll try to convince people that he died…or that he was one of _Falcon's_ creations." He glanced at the ring again. "But if you want people to believe that, there can't be any more bodies found hanging anywhere. And I can't be accomplice to…that…" He held out his open palms to her in surrender.

"There won't be any more murder," she stated, trying to taste the truth in her words. It finally dawned on her that she had put Gavin in a difficult position. "That's why I called you. I wanted to do this in a peaceful way. No more terrible revenge."

He nodded. "All right, then. Let's try to get this figured out. Like I said, we need evidence. Once we get some of this stuff out in the open, it will get easier. People will start coming out with more claims. All the media will start investigating. The government will get involved. It's just a matter of starting it up."

"Raoul might have access to some things."

"Yeah. He's in some trouble. Do you think he'll cooperate if we can find him?"

She bit her lip. "I think that Raoul will help once he sees me. He probably knows by now that Leonie is a monster. But…you can't mention him to Erik. Or Erik to him. They really, really hate each other."

"That's good to know."

"There's also this." She pulled out the infamous note from Frederick to Louis. It was severely wrinkled from passing from one person to the next, and Erik had nearly crushed the paper into two pieces. Still, she had been overjoyed when Nadir privately handed it to her with a soft, 'Maybe this will help.'

Gavin read over it, wrinkling his nose in disgust at the contents before nodding with enthusiasm. "Yeah! If we can prove the signature, this will definitely be good." She smiled, feeling a faint spark of hope within her. "Is there anyone else that I could talk to? Just to get some other details."

She understood what he meant. "Nadir might talk to you. Erik…doesn't like other people very much. He's very…I could ask…"

"Nadir would be fine," Gavin quickly replied. He watched her fingers as she caressed the gold band. "Just out of curiosity, what were the yellow lights?"

"That was Erik. He was keeping watch."

"But what were the lights?"

"His eyes. They kind of…glow in the dark." Gavin's mouth dropped open a little. She smiled fondly. "I love them."

"I think he also growled at me."

Christine nodded. "He's a little protective."

"That's not exactly…Oh, Christine!" Gavin's eyes widened, and she looked up with a start. "There's something I forgot to tell you. Back home, I think someone might have been following me. There was this figure dressed in black at the airport. I thought it was my imagination at first, but I'm not so sure now."

She put a hand over her mouth, feeling her heart begin to race. "Oh! I hope Leonie didn't find out about our calls! She could have had someone follow you!"

"I just saw the guy up to when I was standing in line for my ticket. I swear I didn't tell anyone. I don't know how they would have found out."

"It's not your fault," she replied, jumping up and feeling a little lightheaded. She looked at the clock. "I need to tell Erik, though. It's only been two hours. They may still be out there. I'll also tell Nadir you want to talk to him." She took a deep breath and steadied herself. "I'm just so glad that it's not hopeless!"

"We can try," Gavin said. "A lot of big cases have been started by one man or a single whistleblower. And if all this is true, it needs to be told."

She gratefully smiled and nodded. "I'll be back in a little while. If they're gone, we'll wait till tomorrow."

"Be careful," he murmured, watching as she hurried to the door. She rushed out of the room, mentally marking the room number and searching for the stairwell. Her heart pounded with both fear and hope as she scrambled down the stairs. The cold air now felt replenishing as she stepped outside, and her surroundings no longer looked as dreary. Christine looked around for any sign of her companions and smiled when her yellow lights appeared from behind a corner.

"Erik!" She embraced him, forgetting their earlier conflict.

"You had your conversation?" he stiffly asked, lightly touching her hair.

She nodded and looked up. "Yes. And Gavin thinks he can help. He says we need evidence. He wants to talk to Nadir and find out more of the history."

"Of course," murmured Nadir, stepping out of the shadows with a weary smile. "Anything to get out of this mess."

She heard Erik faintly mutter something but ignored it. "He also thinks that someone was following him back home," she began. "He saw a man in black back at the airport. Someone could be trying to find us!"

Erik settled an arm around her shoulders. "I am sure that it is of no concern."

"What? But it could have been someone working for Leonie."

"I sincerely doubt that it was. Perhaps the boy is paranoid."

Nadir shook his head. "Erik!" he exclaimed, causing Christine to glance over at him in surprise. "You had someone following the young man, didn't you?" Erik said nothing.

"What?" she asked, turning around. "You did? Why?"

Erik straightened. "It was necessary to ensure that he would not do us harm. I knew nothing of him. I was not willing to trust him with our lives."

Nadir continued to glare. "And what would have happened if he had made an attempt to contact the authorities?"

"It would do you well to shut your mouth, my friend," he harshly retorted.

"Would someone have…hurt him?" she asked, her heart becoming heavy.

"There was no incident, and so it does not really matter. Let us go somewhere for the night now."

She stepped backward. "Gavin could have been killed if someone had made a mistake!" she exclaimed. "Why did you do that? Why won't you trust me?"

"I am keeping us alive!" Erik hissed. "We should not even be here! We should be leaving the country!"

"But I'm trying to make it to where we don't have to run! I'm trying to make things better for us! I need to know that my friends are safe, though. Don't you know how horrible that would have been if someone had…" She choked. "Gavin has a wife and everything!"

"He would have deserved it if he had attempted to lead the authorities to us. Traitors will not be tolerated."

"Erik!" she exclaimed through gritted teeth. "He didn't even know what was happening!"

Erik stepped away from her, looming high and dark. "I see!" he hissed. "The nitwit has already turned you against me! Erik sees all! And _he_ won't stand for it! We are leaving!"

"No! Gavin's going to help us. We're making a plan, and it could actually work. We could be safe. Why don't you want that? I don't understand why you don't want this!"

"You are choosing to go with him?" Erik asked with venom. She released a sigh of frustration.

"Stop being self-destructive," stated Nadir, standing at a distance with his arms crossed. "Are you even listening to her?"

With a fiery glare, he suddenly vanished into the shadows. "Erik!" she exclaimed, desperately looking around. "You can't just always disappear! Erik!" He was gone, though. Christine placed a hand to her forehead. "Why can't he see what I'm trying to do? I love him! I don't want to see him hurt. I don't want to see anyone die! Gavin, either!"

Nadir came to stand beside her. "He should not have done that to your friend. Had I known, I would have warned you."

"Why won't he trust me?"

"Erik rarely trusts anyone. And he does not have faith in others. As I've told you, he doesn't like to be out of control."

"But I'm trying! What else can I do? What can I say?"

Nadir shook his head. "You cannot blame yourself." His expression darkened. "If…if he cannot see what you are doing, then Erik is too far gone for anyone to save. It is not your fault that he is so damaged. Can you understand that? I know it is difficult; I still have a hard time forgiving myself." The words stung her soul and choked her, and she was physically unable to respond. "But we are not at such a hopeless place yet," he softly added. Nadir looked up at the building. "We had better make sure that the young man is still safe up there."

Her heart nearly snapped into two pieces. "Erik wouldn't hurt Gavin. He wouldn't!"

Nadir started walking toward the back entrance without a word. She attempted to quickly follow him, her legs numb and her mind blank. _He wouldn't. He wouldn't._ Erik wouldn't kill Gavin! He wouldn't do that to her! He wouldn't destroy everything like that…everything they had…their future...

Just as she put a foot on the first concrete step of the entrance, Christine felt a cold hand wrap around her upper arm and yank her backward. "Oh!" she gasped, looking up at his eyes as she fell back against him. "Erik." His breath was harsh in her ear. He silently held onto her for several seconds, and she remained frozen under his grasp. Finally, he spoke.

"Erik is…he is…I…I am not too far gone," he rasped, each word painfully forced and broken. "I am not too far gone." He gripped onto her desperately, his fingers digging into her skin to just below the point of pain. In her shock, she realized that the statement was a question. He had been listening to the conversation. Even in his anger, Erik couldn't let her leave with the belief that he was hopeless.

"I know you're not," she softly replied, once she found her voice. His grip loosened, and she turned around to face him. "I never would have come to England if I thought that. I wouldn't have done any of this." She saw his thin chest move up and down with several deep breaths of relief. "I just want you to trust me. I don't want anyone else to be hurt."

He hesitated, before mumbling, "They would have merely subdued the boy and reported back to me. There was no order to kill."

She blinked in confusion before slowly nodding. "Gavin is just my friend. Nothing more. You have to understand that. And he really wants to help. I mean…" She looked up into his eyes. "Wouldn't it be wonderful to have a real place to live? An apartment in the city…a house in the country. Anywhere. And we could go out at night together. We could do anything…"

Erik didn't respond, but the anger seemed to fade. He appeared uncertain, and the only time she had seen a similar confused glint in his eyes was when he had gotten down on his knees to collect the scattered cards. She slowly reached behind his head with both hands and untied the mask, before removing it and calmly looking at him. "Promise me you won't hurt him." Erik remained silent. "Promise me. Or I can't ask Gavin to help. And then we'll have to run forever." Her pulse was racing. "Please."

Finally, the cracked and malformed lips parted. "I promise." It was barely audible, but it was said. She leaned in and softly kissed him, stroking his wispy hair with a free hand. Erik remained very still, although she thought she felt him press a little closer to her as her lips touched his.

Pulling back after a few seconds, Christine offered him her hand. "You can come inside with us if you want." She knew that Gavin would be a little disturbed, but he'd have to get over it.

"I had rather not," Erik hoarsely replied, drawing back and turning his face away from her. "I am able to keep better watch from a distance."

"All right. I'll come out later to see you. Please don't disappear." He nodded and reached for his mask, and she handed it to him. With a final smile of love and gratitude, she walked up the steps and went inside, keeping her head low as another couple passed by. Nadir was standing to the side and staring at her expectantly. "Gavin is just fine," she stated. "And you shouldn't say that Erik is beyond hope. He's going to think that he is. That's horrible and-"

"Did you tell him that he wasn't?" Nadir softly interrupted.

"Well, yes!"

"Good. You're the only one who could ever get him to believe it."


	58. Fine Grey Lines

This chapter has some very dark references, although there's nothing too descriptive. It is the last chapter with a lot of back-story, and its purpose is to put the beginning into perspective. The next chapter will start the real action. Thank you as always for your wonderful feedback.

**Read and Review!!!**

Gavin blankly stared at his glowing computer screen and waited for Christine to return. When he glanced away to check the digital clock, blurred spots danced in front of his eyes. His hands were tingling with excitement, fear, and the chill that comes when exhaustion begins to set in. His mind still hadn't unraveled all that Christine had told him. Only two facts remained very clear. The bad guy was a billion dollar corporation. Christine's lover was a murderer.

He was sympathetic to criminals and believed that almost everyone behind bars had a troubled background. He'd had a couple of friends get hooked on drugs and a cousin in prison for stealing a car, and Gavin knew that their childhoods had been rough. But this wasn't an addiction or a silly theft. This was a man who, if the news reports were accurate, had slaughtered dozens of souls. People like him were the reason that parents didn't let their kids out of the house anymore.

And yet Christine Daae was fiercely attached to him.

He didn't know what he would do if Erik murdered again. Call the police? Disappear and pretend he wasn't a part of this? What if Erik labeled him as the enemy?

He had sympathy. It wasn't that he didn't think a great injustice had been done to this man. The entire situation was disgusting, and _Falcon_ was corrupt beyond belief. But if everyone doled out justice as Erik did, there would be no one left on the planet. Still, he'd made a firm promise to Christine, and she had assured him that no more murders would occur. God forbid either of them have to go back on their words.

His heart skipped a beat as a knock sounded out from the door. Gavin stood and opened it, immediately calming as he absorbed the sight of Christine and a dark-skinned man whom he guessed to be Nadir. Mr. Khan was not an intimidating man, standing only an inch or two above Gavin. His clothes were dirty and torn, and his dark eyes were tired. Stubble dotted his chin and wrinkled cheeks. He managed to walk with the last of his dignity; his shoulders were straight, and he met Gavin's eyes without hesitation. Christine stepped in behind him, displaying no signs of fear. Gavin slowly held out his hand. "It's nice to meet you, Mr. Khan." He cleared his throat, annoyed at the hitch in his voice.

The man blinked and then shook his hand. "You as well, Mr. Lewis." His tone was weary.

Christine walked forward and spoke. "Nadir said he'd answer your questions. Erik…didn't want to come up."

"That's fine," he quickly replied. He wasn't sure he was ready to meet Erik yet. "We can sit at the table and talk. If you can't tell me something, that's all right. I'm just getting what I can." Nadir nodded and took a seat at the desk, his muscles relaxing at the rare sensation of comfort. Christine hesitated, before sitting cross-legged on the bed.

Unable to come up with any appropriate small talk, Gavin began by asking some dates and places, thereby rooting Christine's earlier story in facts and figures. Mr. Khan spoke calmly, although he did glance down once when explaining the location of the hospital where his wife and newborn child had died. He also became somber when speaking of Erik's childhood. "He had amazing potential," Nadir murmured. "A mind like that can find a cure for cancer or run a country." Gavin just nodded.

After he got what he wanted concerning that part of the story, he glanced at Christine. She'd remained silent for most of the conversation, her eyelids occasionally drooping. Gavin nearly wanted her out of the room for what he was about to ask. Then again, she wasn't a child. Heck. She'd probably been through more than he ever had. "Mr. Khan," he began with a swallow. "I'd like to ask you some question about what happened after Erik was released from prison. Or if you just want to give me the basic story…"

Nadir eyed him. "Why do you want to know these things?"

Gavin folded his hands together. "If I'm ever going to make it seem like Erik never existed, I need to know the full story." He glanced down. "Secondly…I guess I'm just curious."

Mr. Khan nodded. "You want to know exactly whom you are working with? Well, I suppose you have that right, although it may cause you to change your mind." Gavin started to protest, but Nadir quickly continued. "I do not know the complete details of Erik's escape from prison, but he did take a good number of lives while doing so. I can't really say he had much of a choice. He was a complete mess when he arrived at my apartment. Imagine one of the insane homeless men you see on the streets of the city, except a dozen times more dangerous. He had wounds that were openly bleeding. From what I have seen, nearly every inch of his body is covered in scars."

Gavin glanced at Christine and saw that she had pursed her lips "It sounds horrible," he stated. "I imagine that he would have wanted revenge."

"Erik became even more frightening," Nadir agreed. "The outright insanity faded and was replaced with a bitter hatred. He ridded himself of uncontrolled madness by focusing on calculated murder. Shortly after seeing me, he killed Richard Firmin and some of the staff at his mansion. As you've likely heard, it was gruesome. Erik chased him into a furnace room, and the body was found scorched and…" He paused. "How many details do you want, young man?"

Gavin swallowed. Christine's jaw was clenched, and she was sitting upright. "No." He cleared his throat. "That's fine. You can move on from that. I…you must have made the decision to join him at some point…"

"Yes." Nadir sighed. "I was angry. My wife and child had been taken from me. Erik's mother had been brutally murdered. And now Erik was nothing but a distorted shell of himself. I had watched one person after another destroyed by the same group of people. And there was no other way to get justice. The legal system had been a failure. So I joined Erik."

"But weren't you afraid of him?" Gavin asked. It was the same question he'd wanted to ask Christine earlier. "Someone that insane could just snap and forget who you are, right?"

The mattress squeaked as Christine shifted. Nadir shrugged. "Somehow fear just didn't seem to matter anymore. I was very empty inside. I just didn't care."

"Erik can control himself," Christine stated. They both glanced at her in surprise. She turned a light shade of red but didn't look away. "He can control himself around people he cares about."

"Maybe so," Nadir murmured. "Anyhow, Erik told me that if I joined him, I had to be obedient. If I were to go against him, he would either kill me or leave me for the police. Yet, still I went with him. I had nothing else to live for except to see justice done." He glanced into the distance for a moment, before making eye contact again. "We returned to the lower regions of France and found two other able-bodied men who had been wronged by the corporation. They agreed to come with us. The rest of the victims were either too old, too scared, or too tired. Erik thought four of us would be enough, though."

"Do you think there are a lot of victims left?" interrupted Gavin. "Or people who lost their babies? Relatives of the victims? Anything like that…"

Nadir shook his head. "I doubt it. Most people escaped the area. A good number probably don't even know the cause of their tragedies. Maybe there are a few left, though. Plus, I have heard of problems in poorer countries…employees getting sick and such."

Gavin nodded and continued to wonder where he was going to get evidence. "All right."

"That same year, the four of us went after Gilles Andre," Nadir continued. "We originally had devised a kidnapping scheme and were hoping to collect some money, but that plan was botched. Erik and Joseph murdered Andre. He was found hanging from a balcony with his ears and arms sliced off. His wife was bound and gagged in a closet…A maid was found dead with a gunshot wound, and some bodyguards were killed. There was also a child that nearly died of an asthma attack while hiding under a bed in terror." Nadir rubbed his hands over his face. "Yes. We were monsters. You might as well know that." He turned around to look at Christine. "I am sorry you have to hear this. So sorry."

It took her a moment to speak. "It's good that I know now," she said, her voice just above a whisper. "I'd find out someday, anyway. It's all right."

Gavin took a breath as his mind continued to spin. "Is that how it usually went? Erik and Buquet did the deed?"

"Yes. Joseph Buquet and Erik were the ones who primarily committed murder. Darius and I were more planners, finding food and shelter for each mission. Even in my anger, I had a difficult time actually killing anyone except in pure self-defense. And Darius was always a little uneasy. Buquet became Erik's favorite for some time. Neither had much remorse for what they did, and Erik even admired Joseph's skills with a gun. Joseph…also had an appetite for women, though. He sometimes crossed a line that Erik never did."

Nadir briefly looked at Christine before continuing. Gavin tasted a bitterness in his mouth.

"We began to go after people at the lower levels of the company, including some 'employees' who were involved in the death of Erik's mother. Looking back, I am not sure that everyone we destroyed deserved it. Still, Erik was determined. And he was at his very worst. After the attacks, he and Joseph would go into a room of wherever we happened to be at the time. Joseph would get drunk, and Erik was already intoxicated on his madness. And they would sit in a room and laugh and celebrate their accomplishments." An expression of self-loathing found its way onto Nadir's face.

Gavin shook his head. "But something must have happened to make Erik hate Buquet. From what Christine said…"

"It did," he replied. "One night, they were at the house of a man involved in Erik's prison arrangements and perhaps mistreatment. The plan was to kill the main man but leave the rest of the household alive. I attempted to limit the murders to only the people involved, and, on occasion, I could get Erik to listen to me." Nadir glanced down. "Against Erik's orders, Buquet went upstairs and found a female member of the household. He violated her in the worst way possible and then slit her throat, thereby keeping them at the house longer than necessary. Erik was enraged afterward. From then on, there was a constant power struggle between them. I think Erik only allowed Buquet to live as long as he did because he was a decent fighter."

Gavin saw Christine pale. He briefly wondered if anything had happened to her, feeling his blood warm in rare anger. Seeing his expression, Nadir quickly spoke. "Erik kept Buquet away from Christine during the hostage situation. And when it finally came down to the choice between Christine's life and Joseph's, Erik didn't hesitate." She quickly nodded in agreement.

"Good," Gavin evenly replied, still not completely pacified. "Christine shouldn't have even been in the same house as the bastard, though."

"Agreed. Erik was not a good man in any shape or form. But had he been pure evil, he wouldn't have cared what Joseph did. Had he been a soulless monster, he would have participated. I am telling you of all Erik's foul deeds, but I intend to mention the occasional glimpses of humanity as well."

"That's fair," Gavin said, watching as Christine looked at Nadir with a small smile. "You're right."

Nadir continued. "After the incident with Buquet, I watched as Erik began to grow wearier. He became more concentrated on his own death and less on the demise of others, playing his morbid music for hours on end. His health would sometimes take downturns, particularly his lungs, and he refused to take care of himself. Erik decided to kill the main remaining members of the company, collect what he could of their wealth, and then…well…I think he planned to kill himself. He realized that revenge would not make his life better. No matter how many he killed, he would die alone and with only a hellish existence to remember."

"Do you think he felt remorse?" Gavin softly asked.

"No," Nadir replied without a pause. "He was simply…doomed." Mr. Khan leaned back into the chair as the story began to wind down. "Before we made our next move, we discovered that Louis de Chagny had fallen gravely ill. There were reports that he meant to give compensation to some people…that he had some great secret. I convinced Erik to wait and see what happened. Honestly, if all had gone as planned, Erik might have stopped the madness once he got his hands on some of the wealth. The order was never placed into the will, though. Phillip de Chagny took everything, and I can only guess that he was under someone else's influence. Erik was furious; he blindly took his anger out on another company associate. Phillip then fled to a foreign country."

"And so Erik went after Raoul instead," Gavin said, feeling strange relief as the story came full circle.

Nadir nodded. "We spent many months searching for Phillip's location. We finally found James Lawrence. And by some amazing coincidence, we discovered that Louis' youngest son was near the same location, preparing for his wedding. We knew we could use him to draw Phillip back to the United States."

Gavin rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Wow." Christine remained silent.

"I know that you must be having second thoughts about helping us," Nadir continued. "I do not blame you. But it is best that you know everything so that you regret nothing, young man."

Gavin shifted, unsure of whether he appreciated the lecture. "It's gruesome," he began. "I won't say that I'm comfortable with it all. There had to have been a better way to handle it."

"That is likely," Nadir replied, staring him in the eye. "What would you have done in Erik's situation?"

He bent his head. "I wouldn't have survived ten years in that prison. At least not with…a disfigurement of that severity."

"And if you had?"

Gavin hesitated. "I guess no one can say what they would be like afterward."

"And if someone murdered your wife, child, or mother?"

"I would hate them." He looked up and expected to see an expression of triumph; he only saw grief in the man's dark eyes. Gavin sighed. "As I've told Christine…" He glanced at her. "I plan to keep yours and Erik's names out of this. I have no intention of getting you into trouble. But I can't be accomplice to murder. If there's another unnecessary death, I would have to leave."

Nadir nodded. "I understand."

"Is that really it?" Christine suddenly asked Nadir with forced braveness, as though coming out of a trance. "There's nothing else? No more secrets?"

"That is it," he gently replied. "You both have all you need to make a fair decision." Nadir kept his gaze on Christine, and Gavin realized that the older man was also not completely comfortable with the relationship.

"Good," she stated. "I don't have to wonder anymore." She turned to him with a calm expression. "Gavin. You should know that Erik had someone watching you back home. It wasn't Leonie." He gaped at her. "Erik was worried that you would call the police and lead them to us. But there was no…" She paused. "You weren't in any real danger."

His stomach lurched. "I…see."

"Erik won't hurt you. He promised me. I know he'll help us."

Gavin stared at her, wondering if her faith was horribly misplaced. What if he was walking into complete insanity? He could leave now. He could go home to his wife and forget all of this before he ended up dead.

But as he looked at the tired, aging man that had nothing left…and at a desperate but determined girl who had given up a life of luxury for a shadow of a human being…Gavin couldn't just walk away.

"All right. Let's make a plan."

* * *

A blurry, jagged patch of yellow light had found its way onto the white wall of his office. Raoul stared at the intruding design, before slowly beginning his search for the source. He moved a metal pencil container to see if the light jiggled with it. He tried a glass paperweight in the shape of a turtle, and that had no effect. He ran his hands along the desk to see if they made a shadow over the shape. Finally, he discovered a small square mirror that had been hidden behind a stapler. 

Maybe one of the secretaries had left it behind. Or Leonie.

He flipped the plate of glass over and tossed it aside; the patch of light vanished.

Raoul could feel himself suffocating. His eyes traveled back to the open manila folder in front of him, and he stared down at the words on the papers in disgust. He'd found the file in a cabinet; it had slipped under the others and disappeared from view. By the date of the last document inside, he guessed the folder had been hidden for at least a decade.

Had his father purposefully put it there? It didn't really matter now.

He stood and walked to the window, before staring down at the slick pavement. Dozens of stories below, shoppers walked back and forth with umbrellas in hand. Some kids ran by with a collie on a red leash. A bus passed and sent a spray of water into the air. The dog shook itself off.

How much would it hurt to jump?

Raoul quickly shook his head to erase the morbid image and returned to his desk. He placed his face into his hands, a few blonde strands of hair falling down and tickling his cheek. Minutes later, the door squeaked open. He started and looked up to see a secretary walk inside with a few sheets of paper in her hand. Raoul quickly pushed the file he had been looking at aside and prayed she wouldn't get curious.

"Good afternoon, Mr. de Chagny," she greeted with a glowing smile. "Leonie asked for me to take these up to you. Just put your name on them, and I'll get them delivered."

He just stared at her. Secretary was the wrong word; she was more like Leonie's left arm. "What are they?" he asked, his jaw clenched.

"It's all for a new plant in Russia," she replied. "The government finally let us in. Isn't that exciting? Labor should be cheap. And there's so much room for expansion and industry." She set them down in front of him and took a step backwards to wait, one high heeled shoe poised in front of her slender body.

Raoul stared down at the papers and felt a pounding in his head. More people would suffer if he signed; he knew this to be a fact now. But what if it came down to a lifetime in prison or obeying Leonie's orders? He was doomed either way.

His conscience fought with the little voice that asked him why _he_ should take responsibility for all this. It wasn't his fault! None of it! Why should he go to prison?

But if he continued to sign forms, it would be his fault. He was no longer ignorant.

But he couldn't go to prison! With those charges against him, he would never get out. And even if he was released after a couple of decades, there would be nothing left of him.

Raoul signed the document in dark blue ink, feeling self-loathing begin to slowly chip away at his soul. His name mocked him from below. "Thanks," the secretary murmured, gathering the papers into her hands. He just glowered at her as she turned around and left. The smile never left her face.

Maybe if he could numb his mind, it wouldn't matter anymore.

Maybe someday he wouldn't have a conscience, and then he wouldn't care.

Yes. Someday he wouldn't care.

* * *

He waited for her. He'd spent many hours waiting for Christine over the last year, and he was willing to spend a billion more. The day had stretched on forever without her. He'd found a dark crevice from where he could keep watch of the hotel and crammed his skeletal body into the small space. Occasionally, someone would pass by, and he would close his eyes so that they could not see the yellow glow. 

Christine came out after sunset, wearing a white sweatshirt that he had never seen before. As she came closer, he could see that _Manchester _was written across the front in black cursive. Her skin glinted with the remnants of a shower. Perhaps she had eaten some decent food as well. A pinkish color had returned to her cheeks, and it was difficult for him to regret his decision to give in to her wishes. His Christine looked alive again.

He stepped out of his hole to greet her. When she noticed him, he saw a flash of uncertainty in her eyes…a moment of caution. Christine knew something about his past that she hadn't known before. Had a fatal fact been revealed? For a horrible second, he thought she might end it, and his chest began to ache.

_I was wrong, Erik. You are hopeless. You're a monster._

She smiled as she came up to him and took both his hands. "Let's go inside, Erik. There's a bench under the stairwell, and no one will notice us. It's too cold out here." He nodded once and checked to make sure they were alone before following her inside. As soon as they found the bench and darted into the shadows, she turned to study him. He turned away from her inquiring eyes.

"You know everything now," he declared. "The idiot Iranian has revealed all, hasn't he?"

"Yes," she agreed. "No more secrets. It's better for me to know, though. Not knowing was worse."

"You must know that I do not remembering everything. Some events, yes. But not all." He was being honest. His sprees of death were nothing but jumbles of sound and color.

"Do you remember things now?" she asked, resting a hand on his shoulder. He turned to look into her concerned eyes. "I mean, do you still lose your memory?"

He hesitated. "I thought that you were not real for a time. While I was in the tunnels, I thought my memories with you were a product of insanity. Otherwise, my mind has stayed with me." His jaw clenched. "But if you have questions of the past, ask Nadir. If you wish for an apology, he will give you one. I would be lying to you."

"I won't ask you to apologize for the past. But…" She closed her eyes. He brushed his fingers against her cheek and waited for her possibly damning words. "But I hope nothing like it ever happens again. I don't know if I could stand that."

"I am the one who abandoned my vengeance, Christine," he said, a hint of bitterness entering his tone. His hand dropped away from her face. "It is you who wished to return to the madness. And I follow wherever you go, my dear."

She nodded and rested her head against his shoulder. "I know. I want to do this peacefully, though. I want them all to go to jail, not die. And then I want to leave and forget all about it."

"That would be grand." He decided not to destroy her idealism.

Christine looked up and touched a small hole in his shirt collar. "You need more clothes," she said with a smile. "Maybe we should get you a new shirt at the gift shop, too. They had black ones." It took him five seconds to realize that she was being humorous. It took another ten seconds for him to decide whether to be annoyed or be grateful that she was relaxed around him. He finally chose the latter. By that time, she was already staring out the window with a distant expression. "We're going to head back toward London soon."

His shoulders tensed. "You have your plan, then."

"Yes. We're getting there. Gavin has some good ideas about where to get information, and he may have a few connections. But you'll come, right? We'll need you there to protect us. I know it could get bad…"

He glanced down at her in slight surprise. "My Christine," he murmured, stroking his hand over her back. "Are you accepting murder as a possible option?"

"No," she replied, staring up at him. "But if someone was trying to hurt us, we'd need to defend ourselves. We have to stay alive. Only if it comes to that."

"I see." He didn't bother to explain that the line between self-defense and murder could be very fine, if even non-existent under certain circumstances. He didn't explain that a person didn't have time to reason it out when in a dire situation. If anyone ever tried to harm her, though, he would not hesitate to kill them. No questions would be asked, and there would be no regrets. He knew this game much better than she and her friend did.

"I think we can win, Erik," she whispered. "I think we'll be fine."

She was silent after that, and he felt her warm breath against his neck. "Will you stay down here for a bit?" he asked, wrapping an arm around her and holding her against him, letting the dark settle around them. "Just an hour or so?" The feel of her was divine. What if he could have this every night for the rest of his existence? It was too dear to think of…too much to hope for. "You are so very lovely." He felt as though a warm bubble was expanding in the center of his chest. "I would do anything for you. Anything you asked." She said nothing, and he realized that she was asleep. He tilted his head against hers and closed his eyes, her scent tickling his non-existent nose.

At some point, he heard the creaking footsteps of someone coming down the stairs above him. He remained motionless but inwardly prepared to grab Christine and disappear into a corner. The intruder was merely her friend, though, squinting in the dim light and looking for her. _He_ hesitated before just intensely staring at the boy, daring him to awaken her and steal away his bliss.

Her friend scanned the lounge and glanced out the window. He looked like he was going to give up his search but then suddenly turned around, perhaps sensing another's presence behind him. Their eyes locked together. The boy sharply inhaled as he took in the sight of Christine and her shadow, and they stared at each other for several eerie seconds. Finally, Mr. Lewis turned around and quickly walked back upstairs.

_Smart boy. _


	59. Her Boys

I'd like to thank _laal ratty_ for her help with England and _Mad Lizzy_ for all her help and insight into this story.

One of you has voiced your frustration with the long length of this phic, and I'm very sorry that I've disappointed you. The end is in sight, but I'm not going to start rushing things now. Perhaps someday I'll edit and attempt to shorten the chapters, but I mean to finish the story first. Still, I'm sorry that you're losing interest.

To those who are still enjoying, I thank you for your continuing encouragement. I'm estimating around ten or so chapters left to go.

**Read and Review!!!**

"Not hungry?" Gavin asked, staring at her and then the uneaten turkey sandwich. "The food here is a little different sometimes."

"It's fine," Christine replied. "I think I'll save it for later. But thanks again for all this. You don't know how good it felt just to take a shower. I still promise I'll pay you back."

"If we get out of this alive, then you can pay me back," he joked. She frowned. "Sorry. Just trying to lighten the mood a little. It's been tense."

"I know. It has been." Christine put a hand over her mouth and yawned. After she had spent much of the previous night in Erik's arms, savoring their closeness, she had come back upstairs. Nadir had slept slouched against the armchair in Gavin's room, and she was happy that he could get some rest. His age was becoming more and more evident on his weary features. Near morning, she had asked Erik to come up with her, but he had again refused. She had kissed him goodbye for the day and left to continue their planning.

"Everything okay?" asked Gavin, likely noticing her tense features.

"Yes. Or I guess I'm worried that it's going to be dangerous," she murmured. "It's just starting to really set in."

"If you want, we could get Raoul out of there and try to make a run for it," he replied. "Maybe it would work."

She hesitated. "I don't think we'd get out alive. Maybe you, Raoul, and me. But not all five of us. They'd track us to a different country."

"Yeah. You're right. Plus these people need to be taken down and exposed." Gavin soon made a couple of phone calls, including one to his wife, and spent several hours on his computer. At one point, he shook his head and ran a hand through his shaggy hair in frustration. "It's hard to find anything online. There's a couple of lawsuits, but they're already in the public record. I'm not a hacker, either."

Nadir glanced up from a newspaper. He'd been continuing to doze for much of the day, and she hoped he was still in good health. "I know a bit about breaking into systems, and I could never get into that company. It is very secure."

"I'll bet it is," Gavin replied with a sigh. He pushed his chair away from the desk in defeat. "Well, I don't think we can do anything else here. We need to get to Raoul. That's our best bet. Let's just hope we don't have to go to France for evidence."

She nodded, feeling her stomach jump as the time of action drew nearer. "Yeah. I guess we should. Before he ends up in prison."

"We could try to get to him when he's coming out of his office," Gavin began. "The address was easy to find. That place is probably under heavy surveillance, though, and we'd have to really be careful. The newspapers said that he has a court date the day after tomorrow; we might be able to grab him there."

"I still couldn't be out in public, though," she replied. "Raoul might start calling out to me. I don't want anyone to know I'm there yet."

Gavin chuckled. "Yeah. The poor guy seems a little high strung. I'll try to get to him first. I'll think of something. Meanwhile…" He pulled out a newspaper and draped it open on the desk. "Looks like _Falcon_ continues to expand around the world. They're now in Russia." She shook her head in disgust.

"Where are we going to stay?" Nadir suddenly asked. "Erik and I have learned to survive anywhere. But I imaging that the two of you and Mr. de Chagny will prefer somewhere more comfortable."

"Well, we could try to find another hotel," Gavin began. "Or we could go to that woman's house where my friend stayed. Considering there's going to be five of us, it might be better to split up. That way if anything goes wrong at one place, some of us will still make it."

"There are also the tunnels," said Nadir. "Although the police have searched much of them, I'm sure Erik knows of other areas where we would be safe."

"Three options, then," Gavin replied. "The more, the better. I'll start looking up train schedules for me and Christine. Can you and Erik find a way down there?"

"I am sure we can. We have managed to cross oceans without detection."

Christine opened another bottle of water and attempted to calm her nerves, feeling a chill race through her blood. As the room grew darker with sunset, she picked up the uneaten sandwich and stood, beginning to feel cramped in the room. "I'm going down to see Erik. I'll tell him the plan."

"I will come with you," began Nadir. "I am finally rested, I think."

She hesitated. "Could you give me just a little while with him?"

He nodded and slowly sat back down. "Of course." Christine smiled in gratitude and walked downstairs. Some laughing children passed her, and she momentarily envied their innocence and lack of worries. Still, when she stepped outside, her rapidly beating heart warmed as soon as she saw Erik waiting for her.

"Let's stay outside tonight," she said, tightly taking his hand. "The air feels good. Unless you want to-"

"No," he softly interrupted. "There are fewer intruders out here to disturb us." They headed toward a small concrete nook at the side of the building. Only a little light from a streetlamp filtered in, casting them in an eerie white glow.

"Have you eaten in days?" she asked, unwrapping the sandwich.

"I am not in need of food."

"You should eat. I only want half of this. Eat dinner with me."

"I will eat later."

"We're going to live our entire lives without ever having a meal together?" She was always reaching for that next step, and sometimes she grasped only empty air. And it was frustrating.

He looked away from her. "It does not look right. It is a vile, unnatural sight. And you should live your entire life without ever having to see it."

Christine sighed before taking a few bites of her sandwich half and then wrapping it back up, the crinkling paper sounding especially loud in the silence. Not many travelers were walking about that evening. "I think we're leaving tomorrow," she began. "We're going to London soon. Gavin thinks I can get by with the wig on a train, especially since they're not really looking for me anymore." She looked up at him. "But I could go with you and Nadir, too."

Erik hesitated. "You would be better protected with us."

"If anything did happen, though, it'd be on the news. They're not going to hurt me and Gavin."

He touched her hair and cheek, seeming calmer than usual. "You should not be so sure." His eyes suddenly looked very certain…strangely sane. "This is not a fair game, Christine. They would hurt you if they believed you could destroy them. They will gleefully kill you if it benefits them. To think otherwise…to think that they will play fair is extremely naive." He exhaled. "You will find yourself in the same position as I did, and then you will have nothing."

She momentarily froze, almost angry that he would say something like that to her. But then she knew it was the truth. Erik was not being cruel this time; he was being honest. A soft sigh escaped her lips, and she leaned against his shoulder, watching as all traces of daylight faded from the dark blue sky. "I'll do what you want. Whatever you think is safest…as long as I get there. "

His chin tilted upward. "I do not wish you out of my sight for that period of time in such conditions. I will have no way of getting to you on a railcar, and I will have no way of knowing where you are. You may meet your friend there."

"All right." She did not see the burning jealousy in Erik's eyes that might lead him to make a selfish decision. Still, she decided it best not to yet mention the plan to find Raoul. Every time she said her ex-fiancé's name, Erik still appeared as though he wanted to strangle something. "Erik. Please eat something with me."

His shoulders tensed. "Will two bites satisfy your morbid curiosity?"

"Yes."

After a second's hesitation, he pulled the mask up so that just his mouth was revealed. Without looking her in the eye, he took the sandwich from her fingers and bit into it. His uneven lips had to curve at an awkward angle around each mouthful, and his chewing was lopsided. One side of his jaw moved more than the other. Despite the deformity, Erik had somehow learned to be neat. He kept his mouth closed and went about eating with a learned precision, as though he had stared into a mirror and practiced for years. He took six bites before wrapping the sandwich up, continuing to look away from her as he lowered the mask.

"Thank you," she whispered, gently kissing his jaw. "Someday we'll have a real dinner together. With a table and everything."

He lowered his trembling hands to his sides and looked into the distance, ignoring her comment. "I had best spend the night ensuring that the car is in working order…or that no idiot has managed to steal it."

"I wish we could all just take the train," she murmured. "At least Gavin will have time to make arrangements before we get there." She hoped her friend would be okay going alone; he seemed to be used to traveling. When Raoul was added to the mixture, it was going to be even more difficult to manage agendas. Still, she had to believe that this would all be worth it in the end. She wrapped her arms around his waist and heard Erik whisper her name. She heard the faintest sound of hope.

Yes. It was all worth it.

* * *

The monotonous words of the judge made no sense to his exhausted mind, and Raoul felt like he was listening to the speech underwater. He sat in a polished wooden chair and shifted in the uncomfortably warm suit, little droplets of perspiration forming on his forehead. The only other sound was the occasional creak of someone changing positions. The man whom Leonie had hired to represent him just sat beside him with a disinterested expression, checking his watch every couple of minutes. 

"What did all that mean?" Raoul mumbled at the end, attempting to climb out of his self-imposed fog.

"There's not enough evidence to charge you," he replied. "But you're to remain in the country for awhile longer."

Raoul nodded. That was likely what Leonie wanted: a tight leash around his neck.

His legs felt heavy as he stood and began to walk out of the room. Leonie soon came to walk beside him, smiling with a glimmer in her green eyes. "Well, that went well," she declared. "This disgusting business will be over with soon, and we can get on with our lives. I want to thank you for being cooperative, dear. It really is better for everyone."

"I'm sure it is," he dully replied. Leonie placed a hand on his shoulder as they walked outside and into the late morning sunlight, and he resisted the urge to shake it off of him. A camera flash momentarily blinded him. Although the court room hadn't been crowded, some of the media were waiting outside.

"All is well," Leonie stated, waving for the reporters. "These silly charges are going to be dropped within days." She headed for the black limousine at the front, posture straight and head held high.

With nowhere else to go, Raoul reluctantly began to follow her. He started as someone suddenly came to stand in front of him, and his first instinct was to look for the security team that was supposed to be accompanying them. A younger guy with a slightly larger build stood there, wearing a camera around his neck and a plain blue baseball cap that covered his eyes. "Nice to meet you, Mr. de Chagny," he softly stated, grabbing his clammy hand and firmly shaking it.

"Wha-?" he began, squinting in the light. The guy quickly released his hand and stepped backward. Raoul blinked, before realizing that there was now a folded note in the center of his palm. Looking back up, he only saw a glimpse of the blue hat as the guy disappeared into the crowd.

"Someone bothering you?" asked a member of the security team, quickly coming up beside him.

Leonie was just about to duck inside the vehicle. She turned around. "Is something wrong?"

Raoul instinctively closed his hand to keep the note hidden and maintained a bored expression. "No. Just a nosy reporter," he replied. When they both turned away, he tucked the letter into the pocket of his suit and continued to walk to the limousine.

"Where are you heading?" Leonie sweetly asked as he climbed inside.

He cleared his throat, feeling slightly awakened by the odd event. "I'm exhausted. Probably just back to my hotel room. Unless you need me for something…" He'd never used derogatory terms for women in his life; sometimes he felt like it these days.

"No. You may rest for the day," she replied, folding her hands together. "Soon we'll get this all over with, and we can get down to the more important things. Like this wonderful new deal. I'm anticipating at least four more plants and…"

She continued talking, but he stopped listening after a couple of minutes. Raoul intently stared out the tinted window, searching for any sign that someone had taken an interest in him. The ride back to his hotel seemed extraordinarily long. He attempted to keep from fidgeting and drawing attention to himself, all the while wondering what was in the note. _Watch it be a flyer for an advertisement or something…_

"I'll see you tomorrow," he curtly told Leonie when they finally arrived at his destination. "Have a good afternoon."

"You, too, dear."

He walked at a quick pace to the elevator and anxiously tapped his foot as he traveled upwards to his floor, becoming even more annoyed when people climbed on two levels below his. Once he had finally found sanctuary in his room and made sure no secret cameras had been planted anywhere, Raoul snatched the note out of his pocket and opened it.

Raoul,

_Come to the front of the same court house at 7:30 tonight. Don't bring anyone with you. Don't tell anyone where you're going. Don't get the police. We want to help you escape from this mess. We know you're innocent of all crimes. Please come. _

Your friend always.

He read the vague letter twice, noting that there was no signature. The tone was somewhat friendly and familiar, and he thought that he'd seen the handwriting before. What if it was…?

Raoul sighed, feeling more anxious by the moment. He collapsed back onto the plush bed and thought it over, running a hand over his forehead. The last time he had gone anywhere alone, it had ruined his life. He still remembered that day, when the noose had descended over his neck at the house by the graveyard. What if this was another setup? What if he would get there only to be shot in the head by some thug?

He made the decision not to go and turned on the television to some ridiculous sitcom. The note continued to tug at his mind as he loosened his tie. What if it was truly a way out? Maybe he could bring a bodyguard with him.

No. They all worked for Leonie, and he didn't want her to know anything about this.

And then Raoul remembered that he really didn't have much left to lose. Plus, if someone wanted to kill him, why not just do it? Why go to the trouble of an elaborate arrangement, along with taking the risk that he would call the police?

Or maybe he just wanted something to believe in.

At around four in the afternoon, he made the decision to go. He took the only possible weapon in the room: a gleaming, sharp knife that he had used to cut steak. He also grabbed his cell phone and readied it for use in an emergency. His heart pounded in his chest as the time neared. There was no one he could trust to go with him. Everyone he had been around for the past month was two-faced and manipulative.

At six forty-five, he slipped on a grey wool coat that Leonie had picked out for him and departed. He repeatedly glanced over his shoulder, always feeling like he was being watched. His skin was tingling with both cold and fear. Several times he considered turning around and retreating to the safety of his hotel room. The vision of spending half his life working for Leonie kept him moving forward.

Finally, a taxi stopped for him, and he climbed inside the warm interior. The lack of luxury and amenities was almost calming. He silently rode to the destination, his stomach painfully churning. He paid the fare and climbed out onto the quiet streets, watching as the shadows shifted, separated, and blended around him. He began to take a few steps down the sidewalk, always aware of where the knife was.

"Hey!" a voice whispered behind him.

He jumped. Whirling around, he saw the same younger guy from earlier standing in a corner. This time there was no baseball cap or camera; he was casually dressed in blue jeans and a black sweatshirt. "Who are you?" Raoul asked, unable to keep a bitter edge from seeping into his tone. "What do you want?"

"Stay calm," the guy replied, nervously glancing around them. "It's all right."

Raoul blinked in surprise at the American accent; he hadn't noticed it earlier. "What do you want?" he repeated. "Why'd you call me here? Are you with the police?"

The guy slowly approached him, and he took a step backward. "You have to promise you're going to stay calm. If you start yelling, I'm going to have to leave. Don't draw attention to us."

"I am calm! Would you just-"

"Raoul." The female voice came from the other side of him.

His heart skipped a beat, and he turned to look at the familiar face of his childhood friend. Even with the wig, he instantly recognized her. Raoul's mouth dropped open. "Christine!" he finally exclaimed.

The other guy winced. "Please keep it down."

Raoul ignored him and nearly dove forward, wrapping her in a desperate hug and pressing her against his broad chest. "My God! You're alive! Oh my God! Christine! Where have you been? What happened?"

She momentarily tensed beneath him, before quickly recovering and gently hugging him. "I'm fine," she murmured. "Don't worry about me. I'm just fine. I'm sorry I worried you."

He kissed the side of her head. "But where have you been? I thought that disgusting psychopath had you! I thought…I didn't know what to think! Are you okay?"

She frowned and drew away from him, biting her lip. "I'm fine. I'll explain more later. We should go somewhere else to talk, though." She gestured toward the other guy. "This is Gavin. He's my friend from college, and he wants to help us."

Gavin held out a hand. "Nice to meet you. Sorry about the scare."

Raoul warily shook it, slowly sizing him up. "Likewise. It's fine." He turned back to Christine, his mind spinning with relief and confusion. "But where have you been?"

"I had to get away from them, from Leonie," she replied, looking him in the eye. "I've…been with Gavin. But we shouldn't talk here."

"With _Gavin_?" Raoul was dying for more answers to his questions. He managed to take a breath and clear his head; all was not lost. "We can't go where I'm staying. For all I know, it's being watched."

"We'll go to the hotel where Gavin and I are staying, then. It's not too far from here."

He nodded. "All right. I just have to be back by tomorrow." They began to walk as quickly as they could without drawing the attention of other pedestrians. Christine stayed between them, and he occasionally saw her glance to the left. Gavin seemed to have no interest in their surroundings, keeping his gaze forward and his shoulders relaxed.

When they finally arrived at what was obviously a second-rate motel with chips on the wall and cracks engraved into the ceiling, the questions came pouring out. "Christine! Where have you been?" Raoul immediately asked her, once they had closed the door and locked it.

"I told you," she gently replied, taking off her coat and wig. She was slightly thinner than he remembered. "With Gavin. I called him to come help me."

"But how could you just leave like that?" he continued, growing angry. "How could you just disappear? Do you know what was going through my mind the entire time? I thought you'd been kidnapped!"

Gavin took a step away from them and sat down on the frumpy, stained bedspread. He glanced toward the window once.

"I'm sorry!" she exclaimed. "I'm sorry that I upset you. I didn't know what else to do."

"You could have told me that something was wrong!"

You wouldn't even listen to me!" she snapped, her face flushing. "You were so sure that Leonie and Freddie were your best friends! You didn't care what I had to say! You didn't even want to know why we had been kidnapped."

"You didn't take that much time to try and explain it!"

"I'm sorry, Raoul. I am. But I had to get away from them. And how was I supposed to know that you wouldn't go running to Leonie with whatever I told you?"

"So you…what? Just ran away and decided to call him out to London?" He pointed at Gavin. "I don't get it!"

She exhaled and ran both hands through her tangled hair. "Wait until you hear the entire story. Leonie is a monster. Do you want to know some of the things that the company's done? Maybe-"

"I already know," he replied with a sigh, taking a seat in one of the worn chairs. "I already know it's a complete mess." He looked up at her. "But how did you know?"

Her gaze momentarily darted to the side before she made eye contact again. "Gavin is a journalist," she stated. "We'd been talking about it for a while, and he did some research."

"Oh." Raoul wasn't entirely satisfied with the explanation, but he didn't know what questions to ask first. The entire thing was strange…and just a bit eerie.

"Gavin and I want to put a stop to it," she began. "We want to expose the company."

He miserably chuckled. "There's no way to do that, Christine. That damned company owns everything and everybody. We should all just try to get out of here." Raoul suddenly glanced down and noticed a gold ring on her finger. Gavin also wore a wedding band. His heart fell a little. "I'm just glad you're okay," he muttered, his anger fading. "I thought the maniac had you. They found Carlotta, and…I don't know. It was all so confusing."

"Just don't worry about it," she murmured. "I'm fine. I'm sorry I scared you."

"Have you heard about what's going on with me?" he suddenly asked. "I swear I had nothing to do with that stabbing…"

"I know you didn't," Christine interrupted with a small smile. "I know you wouldn't do something like that. That's partly why I'm here."

Raoul nodded, feeling a little lost. They were all momentarily silent. "So you two were together the entire time?" he asked.

"Yes."

He paused and gritted his teeth. "Then whatever happened to that…our kidnappers?"

"You need to forget about them," she said in an even tone. "You need to worry about Leonie."

"I am worried about her," he replied. "These last few months have been hell because of her. I'm just glad you're here now." Raoul looked between her and Gavin. "What would you guys have done if I hadn't shown up?"

"Stalked you until you did," she replied with a grin. "We were already trying to find your hotel."

"And if I had brought the police?"

"We had a way out," she softy replied, her smile fading as she looked down. "Raoul." She stepped forward and placed a hand on his shoulder. The ring mocked him. "Please listen to me. We need your help. If you don't help, we're both going to end up miserable." He noticed something different about her face. She was still beautiful, but she somehow appeared older.

"What can I do?" he tiredly asked. "I think I've made a mess of things so far."

"Gavin will explain more," she replied. "Better than I probably can."

Raoul looked at the guy with slight disdain, before hiding his frown and nodding. He wasn't ready to ask just how close they were, although they didn't seem too affectionate. Gavin slowly stood and pulled out a computer, traces of exhaustion on his face. "How's this for an introduction?" Gavin began, before pausing. "Decades ago, there was a man who was seriously injured at birth by the company's pollution. When he tried to bring a lawsuit, they threw him in prison. They tortured him for years, and he died in there." Christine momentarily closed her eyes.

Raoul blanched, remembering the file he had found. "That's…sick."

"Glad I got your attention," he replied. As Gavin sat down and continued the story, Raoul watched as Christine walked over to the window and looked out into the darkness, her head tilted to the side.

He didn't dare ask her what she was looking for. It would have been too much for one night.


	60. Battle Plans

Hi guys. Thanks for all your kind comments and encouragement. You made me want to continue. So thank you.

**Read and Review!!!**

She never regretted her decision to ride with Erik to London; the trip to the mammoth city had been extraordinarily peaceful. They'd seen only one police vehicle, and it had already stopped some unlucky soul for what appeared to be a routine traffic ticket. Nadir had driven at the speed limit, keeping the headlights on for most of the journey.

Gavin hadn't been thrilled at the idea of traveling alone, but he'd accepted the fact that she might be safer away from the crowds. Whenever she mentioned Erik, his eyes would cloud with worry and questions. To her surprise, though, he placed a hand on her shoulder right before he left to catch his train. "I'm glad you're happy," he'd said with a swallow of acceptance. "I hope we can find a way out of this for you."

And she knew that her love for Erik was now validated in Gavin's eyes. He didn't completely understand it; maybe no one really could. Still, he realized that it wasn't his choice to make.

Throughout the nighttime drive, she had rested her head against Erik's shoulder but never slept. The half-moon cast some light upon the empty landscape, and the air was slightly less frigid as winter began its last month. Erik kept watch out the windows but remained calm, lightly taking her hand into his and rubbing his thumb over her skin, caressing the ring. They would have done nothing but worry over each other's welfare had they not been together. She needed him to keep from sinking into despair; he needed her to exist.

When they were about a half hour away from their destination, she finally gathered the courage to reveal their plans. Nadir's shoulders visibly tensed as he drove forward and glanced once into the rearview mirror. She turned and placed a hand on Erik's arm, explaining how they were going to find Raoul and refusing to back away even as his eyes burned. "I'm not going to tell him about us," she had said. "At least not yet. He wouldn't understand. He'd be too upset to help us."

"If he attempts to give away our position, I will not hesitate to subdue him," he'd replied with a clenched jaw. Perhaps seeing the pained expression on her face, he looked away and added, "Only for you, I will not cause him direct injury."

"We're going to try to do it as safely as possible. I think Raoul does want out of this. I think he'll want help." Erik said nothing. "No matter what's said, know that nothing's changed for us," she continued, gripping his hand. "I'll come out and see you as soon as he's gone."

"Always wear your ring," was his only response.

At around eleven, they arrived at the hotel where Gavin had made arrangements. The building was less luxurious that the previous but also better for concealing themselves. The few other guests that she saw looked like poorly-paid business travelers who were too concerned with their own lives to pay anyone else attention.

"I must go hide the car," said Nadir, turning and looking back at her. "We will find someplace else for the night and leave you to get some rest. Mr. Lewis has a job ahead of him tomorrow. I pray he pulls it off."

She had nodded and hugged Erik goodnight, whispering her love into his ear. "I'll see you tomorrow," she murmured.

The following day, Christine had stayed in the room when Gavin left to deliver her note, crossing her fingers and waiting. He'd returned with a layer of perspiration on his brow as he pulled off the baseball cap. "It's done," he said with a sigh of relief. "No problems as far as I could see. No one saw me give him the note."

"You didn't notice Erik following you, did you?" she asked, wondering if he was somehow watching as their plan unfolded.

"No," Gavin had replied. "But it was broad daylight. It would have been hard for him to be there."

As she and Gavin walked out into the night to meet Raoul, though, Christine could feel Erik's protective presence around them. Had Raoul brought anyone with him, she knew that Erik would have known beforehand and acted quickly to get them out of there. Fortunately, all had gone well. Even as Raoul had hugged her and insulted her beloved, Erik had remained hidden. Perhaps the glimmer of the ring on her finger was enough for Erik's sanity.

The other bit of luck that night was Raoul's slight suspicion that she and Gavin were more than friends. It allowed him to slowly let her go. And after Gavin began the story, Raoul seemed to forget any grudge he had developed against him. Her old friend's face became even wearier as he began to understand the crimes of the company. Gavin was careful to portray Erik as nothing but a tragic victim. He spoke of the babies that had died, as well as the company's methods of 'handling' problems.

"It's horrible," Raoul said, once the story was over. "I can't believe my father…" He closed his eyes and swallowed. "But what can I do? I mean, there are three of us!"

"You have access to a lot of information," Gavin began. "If you could get into the files or the computers, you might be able to find something. We could use contact information of anyone involved in the lawsuits. Anything. All we need is some proof to back up the story."

"I have found some things," Raoul stated. "There were some papers from France, but I couldn't read all of them. There were also some papers covering employee injuries that looked really bad. There were even a couple of photographs." Raoul shook his head. "I don't know. It's such a long shot. If Leonie ever found out…"

"What other choice do we have?" asked Christine, looking away from the window. She had seen no sign of Erik yet. "What else can we do?"

"If I can get the police off my back, we might be able to sneak out of the country," he eagerly replied. "There are just three of us, and only you and I are people of interest." She glanced away from him and bit her lip, hoping this situation didn't explode.

Gavin cleared his throat. "But more people would just continue to be hurt," he began. "These people are literally murderers."

"But it's not our fault," Raoul replied, rubbing his temples with one hand.

Gavin pulled out the wrinkled letter from his pocket. "Do you mind?" he asked her. She paused and then shook her head, deciding that everything might as well come out. "Read this."

Raoul opened it. After reading the note to his father, he tossed it to the side in disgust. "It's sick. It's horrible, and they're criminals. I can't even defend my own father, for God's sake. But I just don't know what we can do to stop it."

"We already have a lot," said Gavin. "We just need a little bit more tangible evidence for the press and authorities. Even if someone does believe the story, _Falcon_ will manage to manipulate their way out of the situation before anyone can find anything."

"I'll try," Raoul finally murmured. "I don't know. Maybe that is the only way out of this. If I'm caught, though, I'll be thrown in prison. At best."

"If you do end up in jail," began Christine, "we'll do whatever it takes to get you out."

"Gee. Thanks," he replied with a depressed smile. He shook his head. "Why the hell did my father get involved with this?"

Gavin shrugged. "He probably just got stuck. He had a wife and a family, and they were living comfortably."

"And so he goes and helps kill some people?" Raoul shrilly asked.

"People tend to protect what they have," Gavin softly replied, subtly glancing at her once. "Sometimes at any cost, I guess."

"I guess so…" He scratched the back of his head, and she could see the emotional turmoil in his once cheerful eyes. "Give me a day or two to look."

She smiled in relief as they gained another ally. "We'll wait for you," she said, coming up beside him. "Please be careful. Only do what you can. And call Gavin's number if you get in trouble." He had finally gotten his cell phone working.

Raoul nodded and slowly stood. Gavin jotted the number down on a piece of scratch paper and handed it to him. "I better get back to my room before anyone gets suspicious." Raoul glanced at her. "I guess you're staying here?"

Christine nodded and slowly followed him to the door. "Yeah. I'm trying to keep hidden. It's better that no one knows I'm here."

His gaze traveled over her face as though he were searching for some sign of unhappiness. "Well, I'm just glad you're safe. I was really worried about you."

"Don't worry about me anymore, Raoul. I'm fine. Or I will be when all this is over."

"I will be, too," he softly replied. "See you later."

"Bye." Once she had made sure that her friend had safely found a taxi, Christine stepped all the way outside and glanced around. Outside of the hum of traffic, all was quiet. "Erik?" she softly called. There was no response. "Erik? Are you out here?" Was he angry? Or had he just retreated to somewhere safe for the night? "Erik?"

He didn't appear. After several more minutes, she stepped back inside, hoping that both he and Nadir were secure. The hollow feeling returned to her chest. She frowned as she saw that Gavin was holding his cell phone and staring at the bedspread with a furrowed brow. "Is something wrong?" she asked.

"What are your plans after all this is over?" His tone was dull.

She shrugged and took a seat. "I'd like to settle down with Erik somewhere safe. I may return to school or just work for a while or-"

"Are you planning to marry him?"

The bluntness of the question surprised her. She froze and attempted to read his expression. "Well, I…"

"It's not that hard of a question. You've been obsessing over this since last fall. Maybe it's time to make sure of what you want."

She bit her lip. "I would marry him," Christine quietly replied, the truth strange on her tongue. "I don't think there's anybody I could ever want as much as him. But why are you asking me this? What's wrong?"

Gavin sighed and finally looked up at her. "I just called Marisol. She's…I'm going to be a dad. I just wanted to make sure we're all playing for keeps. We both have a lot to lose. If something goes wrong, we both might lose everything."

Christine put a hand over her mouth. "Oh, Gavin! Congratulations. I'm just-I'm so sorry you're in this position. I don't-"

"I'm already in too far to back out now," he interrupted. "We're going to get through this." He paused and glanced out the window, a wry smile forming on his lips. "Who knows? Maybe Erik will be what keeps us alive."

* * *

When he walked into his office the next day, Raoul was painfully alert. The fog in his mind had been burned away by renewed hope and increased anxiety. He eyed each secretary closely to see if they had a knowing glint in their eyes. He cast an uneasy glance toward a tanned repairman who was standing on a ladder and working on one of the lights. Even an elderly woman with a walker had made him nervous as he passed by her on the way to the building. His sleepless night didn't help his paranoia, nor did the extra three cups of coffee he'd had to wake himself up. 

Once inside the spacious room, he tightly closed the door and glanced around. When he was certain that he was alone, Raoul opened a bottom drawer. His muscles relaxed as he saw that the previously discovered file was still safely tucked away in the back. Running his hands over his face, he attempted to think of other places that he could search. The building was huge; it would take months to go through each room. He entered the secure computer database and searched the records. Before getting very far, Raoul heard a knock on the door and immediately logged off, his heartbeat increasing again.

"Yes?" he asked, attempting to hide his exasperation.

"It's just Leonie, dear," came the syrupy voice.

"Come in," he replied. She opened the door and walked inside, wearing a navy blue pantsuit and appearing immaculate as always. "Good morning." He leaned back and tried to look relaxed.

"Good morning," she replied with a bright smile. "I just came to see how you were doing. Better now, I imagine, after that visit with the judge yesterday." She winked at him.

"A little better," he replied. "I'm still worried about Christine, though."

He watched as she bit her tongue to keep from saying something rude. "I know. We're still searching, dear. All you can do is live your life, though." Leonie walked up beside him. "Speaking of living your life, I'd like you to do me a little favor next week," she began. He braced himself. "A young female representative from a chemical company is coming to talk about becoming one of our suppliers. I'd meet with her, but I think she'd enjoy your company much more. She's a lovely young lady."

Raoul gritted his teeth. "Sure," he replied. "I'll meet with her."

Leonie's smile widened. "Good. I'm sure you'll have fun. We'll discuss it later." She looked around the half-empty office, folding her hands behind her back and bending forward slightly. "Is there anything else you need? Anything I can order for you? Some new furniture?"

"No. I'm…fine here."

Leonie nodded. "I'll leave you alone, then. Have a wonderful day."

"You, too." He released a sigh of relief as she finally left and waited for several minutes. When the door remained closed, Raoul went back into the computer and clicked on whatever looked useful. He wondered if there was a way to get Gavin inside the system and let him do his own search.

_Damned Gavin._ He really didn't see what was so wonderful about Gavin outside of the fact that he seemed like an intelligent guy. Maybe Christine wanted someone who kept out of her way and didn't touch her. Raoul wondered if he'd smothered her with unwanted affection the entire time. Then again, she'd always seemed to enjoy their tender moments together, never giving any signs that she didn't want to be kissed. Raoul finally pushed it from his mind, knowing that he couldn't make Christine love him. And there were more important things to deal with now.

He searched a few more file cabinets in some storage rooms before finally giving up. The first folder still had the best information, and Raoul still had the feeling that it had been intentionally left there for him to find. He stacked the papers together and packed everything into his briefcase, nearly colliding with the repairman on his way to the elevator that afternoon. No one stopped him on the way out.

* * *

Christine had planned to go back out and search for Erik as soon as the sun set. Her day has been spent inside the cramped and heated hotel room, worrying over his absence as she mindlessly watched television. Gavin had brought back some food and spent the day on his computer or sitting in thought with a disturbed expression. She was eager to get out of there for a few hours, and darkness seemed welcome rather than frightening. 

A knock sounded at the door before the sun had disappeared behind the horizon, and she glanced out the window to see Raoul standing there with a brown leather briefcase. She quickly opened the door and ushered him inside, checking to make sure that no one else was watching before she closed it.

Gavin glanced up in surprise. "You might want to give me a call before you come next time. We're all kind of paranoid around here." He chuckled.

Raoul nodded. "Yeah. I know what you mean." He placed the case on the table and undid the silver latches. "I found some things from awhile back. I don't know if they help."

"Anything helps," replied Gavin, eagerly standing and flipping through the papers.

"Some of it's in French. I couldn't read it."

"I'm sure we can find a translator," he casually stated. Christine hid a smile. "What's this?" Gavin asked, picking something up with his thumb and forefinger. "A picture?"

"Yeah," Raoul replied. "A photograph of something. I can't tell what. It's blurry."

Gavin held it up and squinted. "I can't make it out either."

Christine took the picture next and brought it under the light. Puzzlement slowly changed to comprehension, and she gripped the photograph tightly. Most of the fuzzy lights in the picture were from cars; some were police vehicles. The two tiny yellow lights in the right-hand corner did not come from a car. She saw the outlines of many people gathered in a circle around an object-a person- of interest.

"Christine?" Raoul softly asked. "Do you know what it is?"

"No," she quickly replied. "I can't tell. Can I keep it and look some more later?"

"Sure."

Gavin curiously glanced at her but stayed silent. He flipped through the rest of the papers and rubbed his eyes. "It's good," he said after a moment. "I think we may have some of the victims' names. If we can only make sure they're related to what we're looking for…"

Raoul hesitated. "If you really wanted to look, I could get you into the intranet. We have to be at the building, though. The files we need would be nearly impossible to get to from anywhere else. You could also look through the cabinets."

"Could I get in there without suspicion?"

"If Leonie wasn't there. And if you wore a suit and looked like everyone else. It's an enormous place; most people don't know each other. We could go in the late afternoon; she's gone by then."

"That sounds really dangerous," Christine cut in.

"But it'd give us a good shot," Gavin replied. "I even know what I'm looking for. It may not take me more than an hour."

"If Leonie or her _friends_ are there, we'll call it off," stated Raoul, giving her a comforting smile. "We'll only do it if it's safe."

"But what if you're caught?" she asked, gripping the edge of the desk. "How will I even know?"

Gavin sighed. "What else can we do? The second best answer is to fly to France and randomly walk around looking for people. And I just…can't right now. We'll try this one time. If we don't find anything, that'll be it."

"All right," she replied in resignation, not having a better solution to the problem. Raoul looked between them. Christine took a seat as they sorted out the details, folding her arms across her chest and frowning. She'd wanted Erik to have faith in them, and now her own doubts were beginning to develop. Were they boys, men, or somewhere in between? Gavin seemed smart enough to know what he was doing, but she also knew that he was feeling strained. She tried to memorize each detail as they continued their conversation.

When Raoul finally stood to leave, she followed him out the door. "I need some air," she murmured.

He glanced at her. "I know you're not thrilled about the plan," he began. "Neither of us had a better idea. Did you?"

"No," she replied, shaking her head. "We'll just do what we have to do."

"Yeah." A silence passed between them. Raoul started to go search for a taxi but paused in mid-step. "Can I ask you something?"

"Yeah."

"Are you and Gavin…engaged or…? I'm just wondering. It's fine. I'm happy for you. He seems…like a nice guy." Raoul was practically choking on each word.

Christine hesitated and picked at a loose thread on her sweater, wondering which answer would do the least harm. "I don't want to talk about it tonight. I'm sorry. It's…" She tapered off.

Raoul shrugged and looked at the ground. "All right, then. I'll see you later, I guess."

"Bye. Have a good night." She watched him walk away and then began her search for Erik, eyeing every possible corner and nook.

"Christine."

She jumped and whirled around, before smiling in relief. "You are here."

"I kept my distance." Erik's voice was calm without being cold. He stood with his arms stiffly at his sides, warily eyeing her.

"But I didn't ask you to stay away," she replied, coming up to him.

"It is best for my mind if I do not have to see you with him often. And it is better for their welfare." He glanced toward the window.

"Erik. You know I don't-"

"Yes. I know. You wear your ring. I know."

"Where are you and Nadir staying?" she asked.

"Wherever we are able to remain unseen. We are fine." He sounded tired.

After checking to make sure that no one else was nearby, she gently removed his mask and kissed his left cheek and forehead. He hesitated, before leaning forward and pressing his distorted lips against hers. He held her against him with both arms, his chest moving with each unsteady breath. The presence of Raoul in their lives seemed to make him bolder and more desperate to claim what he deemed precious.

"Will you do something for me?" she softly asked as the kiss ended, running her hands along his back and looking up at him. His face was inches from hers. She could feel the ridges of each protruding bone along with the iciness of his parched skin, and yet it somehow didn't matter. Breathless, she didn't want to touch anyone else. She never wanted to let him go.

But their future rested on present sacrifices.

"You know that there is little I could deny you," he quietly answered.

"Could you or Nadir do some translations from French?"

He tilted his head. "That should not be difficult."

"I…No. There's something else," she replied, taking a deep breath. "And you're not going to like it."

* * *

Darrel watched Leonie sit there and stare at nothing, her manicured fingernails tapping against the polished dark wood of her desk. She ran a hand over her narrow neck, her jaw clenched and her eyes never blinking. 

He was probably one of the few people who had close enough access to kill her. But he had much more power and immunity with her alive. Plus, she still fascinated and amused him after all these years. He'd taken a liking to her when he was younger, his first crush on an older woman.

"So…" he began, feeling his stomach growl. "Want to get some dinner?" She'd been very quiet all day, which meant that her mind was busy. "Maybe some strong drinks?"

Leonie ran her tongue over her upper row of teeth and stood. "You could never lie to me, could you, dear?" she asked, ignoring his question. "I always knew when you tried."

He nervously chuckled. "Yes. You always saw right through me."

She smiled and nodded twice. "In my old age, I occasionally wonder if I'm becoming paranoid. But I don't think so. I really don't. I think I'm as sharp as ever."

"I agree." It was best to stay on her good side. "You're a smart woman."

She came up behind him and wrapped both arms around his neck, crossing them at the elbows in a narrow embrace and placing her hands on his shoulders. Darrel choked as the grip became a little tight, and her hold loosened slightly over his airway. "The next several days may be fun," she murmured into his ear.


	61. Round One

Hey all! I'm glad you're continuing to enjoy the story. This chapter will hopefully speak for itself. Some parts are a little intense, but it should stay within the rating. I'd like to thank _Mad Lizzy_ for all her help with some of the important details in this chapter. I hope everyone enjoys it.

**Read and Review!!!**

Raoul's first instinct was to get Gavin into the building as soon as possible and then escape London. The situation was grating at his nerves, and he always had the feeling that a pair of hidden eyes was watching him. Gavin convinced him to lay low for a little while, though, and to arouse no suspicions. By being cooperative, he would let Leonie think that all was normal. Then, the two of them could enter the building with a lesser chance of being caught in the act. As soon as he and Gavin gathered all the evidence that they were able, all three of them would escape the city, knowing that the company would be close behind them.

It was a long shot, but it was all they had.

For the next week, Raoul refrained from paying any more visits to Gavin and Christine. He stopped searching for information altogether and did whatever Leonie asked. His free time was spent innocently watching television in his room or exercising at the hotel gym. If Leonie had somehow learned of his computer access or file searches, he hoped that she assumed curiosity to be the reason. He prayed she knew nothing about Christine and took it as a good sign when her attitude toward him remained the same. They chatted like old friends with nothing to hide.

His ultimate act to please Leonie was the business meeting with the woman that she had mentioned. The only reason he agreed to take Ms. Abby Roberts out to dinner was because the time of action was nearing and he needed Leonie's full trust.

Even before he got to the restaurant, an expensive seafood place where some of the main dishes still had eyes and mouths, Raoul knew she would be attractive. Leonie wouldn't have arranged the meeting otherwise. Abby was professional throughout dinner, her curly brunette hair swept into a barrette and her navy business attire form-fitting but modest. He actually began to relax and enjoy his shrimp dinner, his head bobbing up and down as she discussed the details and agreements. Her red lips remained in a constant polite smile, and he hoped she was getting bored. Maybe he'd get out of this alive.

"Well," he said as he left just over fifty pounds for the bill. Raoul wiped his mouth. "It was great talking to you. Dinner was fun. I'll let Leonie decide what she likes and have her get back to you. She's better at details than I am." He held out a hand.

Abby lightly laughed. "Already, Mr. de Chagny? But it's only seven. And we've gotten all of the boring matters out of the way. Let's go out for a bit. Leonie said it was fine."

His heart jumped, and he stared at her suspiciously. Her brown eyes sparkled in the dim lighting, and the polite smile had changed to a slightly mischievous grin. He scratched the side of his head as his stomach flip-flopped. If he didn't do this, Leonie might get upset. "I guess it is early," he replied. "What would you like to do? I'm not all that familiar with the city."

"Well, we'll just go walking or something. There's plenty to look at."

"It's kind of cold."

She laughed again. "We'll stay warm."

It wasn't that he didn't know something was wrong with the situation, but it felt so damn good to have someone walking next to him. He'd had beautiful women throwing themselves at him over the past month, models and heiresses and God knew who else. Now that Christine was safe, safe and taken by another man, his reasons for refusing another's company were running out.

Abby wore a sweet smelling perfume, and her long black coat was made of velvet. She kept the conversation going, commenting on the various stores or talking about her travels. He gave good-natured responses and attempted to make an occasional joke. She laughed often and stayed close to him. They'd had wine at dinner, and maybe his senses were a little dulled, but he was all too comfortable with her.

By eight, she'd gotten an arm wrapped around his waist and had given him two wet kisses on the cheek. By nine, he found himself staring up at his hotel with her still at his side. "What a fun night!" she exclaimed, her voice breathy. "It's always so dull back home. Well, I grew up in this silly little town, and so this is all exciting to me. I really needed this." His vision was blurry with exhaustion. Raoul started to ask her if she wanted a cab, but Abby clutched onto his hand and grinned. "Well, what are you waiting for, love?"

"Uh…nothing." Like a dog on a leash, he followed her, drawn by the rosy scent of her hair. _Didn't Christine have a shampoo that smelled like that? _In a haze, he found the elevator and took her to his floor.

"How long have you been staying here?" he heard her ask as he was putting his key card in the slot.

"Over a month," he replied, his mouth dry.

"Wow. I'd love to see your bill for all this. But, of course, you don't worry about things like that." He felt her kiss his neck from behind. "You should enjoy your life here. It's perfect. We have what everyone wants, right? Enjoy it, love!"

"I guess," he mumbled, feeling the door finally click open. Days later, he would wonder if he'd been drugged that evening. Or maybe that was just a bad excuse. Her arms wrapped around his waist as they walked into the room together, and she giggled as they stumbled over the plushy carpet. He turned around, and they kissed, one of her hands wrapping itself in his thick blond hair.

She released him and reached up to let down her curls from the barrette. He turned away for a second and began loosening his tie, squeezing his eyes shut and trying to find some clarity in the moment. When he opened his lids, he caught sight of Abby's reflection on a metal lamp. Her hand snuck beneath the wooden desk in his room, holding a small, black object. Twisting her wrist, she adjusted the item and quickly drew away from the table. A sickened feeling descended upon him as he realized it was likely a camera or recording device.

Raoul turned and stared at her, and she smiled at him. He half-expected her to come up with an excuse to leave now that her mission was accomplished. Abby approached him, though, the thrill of the evening still gleaming in her eyes. Maybe she did still want him in the end. Would it satisfy Leonie even more if he…?

He suddenly felt nauseous. Her palms were running along the front of his chest as she repeatedly kissed him. "Forget about her," she murmured. "You're such a love. I was expecting someone in your position to be a pompous jerk, but you're so sweet."

A bad taste formed in his mouth as she continued. He could picture the look of victory on Leonie's face if she heard this. As Abby began to tug at his dress shirt, he wrenched away from her and stepped backward. She frowned. "Well, what's wrong?"

"Nothing." He swallowed. "I think you should leave."

"Don't be silly." She tucked her hair behind her ear. "We both need this. We're both so bloody stressed. What? Don't you find me attractive?"

He was momentarily weakened as she began running her lips up and down his neck. What if he indulged this once? He could suddenly hear Leonie's high-pitched laugh in his mind. Raoul drew away again in disgust. "I can't. I have to be at work early tomorrow. I'm sorry."

"It's just a little fun," she pled. He shuddered as her hand traveled lower. "You never have to see me again if you don't want."

"I'm sorry," he choked out, removing her fingers and leading her to the door. "Have a good night."

She actually looked offended as she grabbed her purse and walked away in a huff, lips quivering with rejection. As he closed the door, Raoul wondered if Abby even knew that much about what was going on. Maybe she was just another one of Leonie's pawns and victims.

He left the device under the table alone, not wanting anyone else to know that he was aware of it. Miserably, Raoul sat down on the edge of the bed and stared at the floor. It was going to feel all too good to take _Falcon_ down.

He just hoped he didn't end up sinking with it.

* * *

Gavin desperately tried to pull everything together in those next few days. If he knew exactly what he was searching for, then no precious time would be wasted in the building. Several times, he wondered if this plan was doomed, but his other options were limited. 

Christine helped wherever she could. She left every evening to get some of the pages translated and to be with Erik for several hours. Upon returning, there was always a small smile on her face, and Gavin was left to assume that she was truly happy.

She had also informed him that Erik kept constant watch over them and had seen nothing suspicious. He and Nadir were supposedly moving from place to place, trying to stay out of sight while also keeping an eye on their surroundings. Gavin couldn't help but feel that he had a powerful bodyguard, even if Erik's gruesome history didn't exactly put him at ease.

He was staring down at the photograph that Raoul had brought over days earlier. Christine had informed him of who was hunched on the ground in the picture, and the image caused a chill to run through his bones. Gavin wasn't exactly sure of how the picture could be of use, but it gave him a few good ideas. He glanced up as Christine entered and took off her coat, her cheeks flushed with cold and delight. "Hey," he began, holding the photograph up. "I was wondering. Do you think that Erik knows of anyone we could contact? A prison guard? Anyone who might have shown him some…humanity in there?"

She brushed a strand of hair out of her face and somberly shook her head. "Erik doesn't really like to talk about it," she replied. "He says he doesn't remember anything."

Gavin nodded. "Well, if you ever feel like you could ask him, give it a try. Anything helps. Tell him it would get us out of here faster."

"I will. Maybe someday he'll be able to remember."

"Did you tell him about our plan?"

"Yeah," she replied with a frown. "He was angry about it at first. He thinks you guys are going to get yourselves killed."

"I would think he'd be happy about that." Gavin smirked.

"Gavin!" Christine chided, before attempting to hide a wry smile. She sighed. "He knows it would upset me. And put us all in danger. But we've…" She tapered off.

"What?"

"Never mind. I'll tell you later." She went into the bathroom, and he shrugged and continued his work.

With the help of the translations, he was able to find some of the names of people involved in the lawsuits that came before Erik's. Gavin knew where he needed to search to find more about the contaminated land and the nearby health facilities that had helped dispose of the 'evidence.' He just hoped he could find enough information to connect it all together. Entering that building was his best chance of getting through this mess as quickly as possible, and so he made up his mind to go through with it. He could then get back to his wife and unborn child.

On the evening before he was supposed to meet with Raoul, Christine slipped on a jacket and went outside. Gavin could hear voices right outside the front door and tried to listen. Erik's strange timbre was unmistakable, and he sounded irked. Christine was gently pleading for something. Suddenly, the door swung open. "Gavin?" She stuck her head inside. "Could you come over here for a moment?"

He tensed, sensing that Erik was still standing by the doorway. Outside of the time he'd seen him under the stairwell with Christine, Gavin's sightings of Erik had been limited to brief glimpses of the yellow dots. And he liked keeping it that way. "Yeah?" he asked, walking over with a swallow. Erik stood several feet away, and Gavin couldn't help but briefly stare. The looming masked man did look like something out of a scary movie.

Christine paused and looked between them in apprehension. "We were wondering if you knew…how to use a gun."

He blinked and turned to look at her. "I was at a shooting range a long time ago. For fun with some friends. That's about it, though. Why?"

"I asked Erik to--I don't think you should go there without some way to defend yourself."

"You think it's going to be that bad?"

"Just look at what they've done to other people," she replied. "They'll kill you if they can. And maybe you won't need it. But I just thought it would be for the best."

Erik suddenly interrupted, his arms folded. "The question is whether there's a higher probability of you successfully acting in your own defense or shooting yourself in the foot."

Gavin shifted and avoided eye contact. "I don't know if I could shoot someone," he quietly replied.

"Because you don't know how or don't want to?" Christine softly asked.

"Both."

Erik silently stared at him. Gavin didn't even want to know what he was thinking. Christine spoke again, her voice tired. "Raoul might know how."

"I will not give a revolver to the half-wit," Erik stated through what sounded like gritted teeth.

"I'm sorry," said Gavin. "It'd be a mess, though."

Erik continued to stare at him as though he were the most pathetic creature on earth. Christine gently took her lover's arm. "All right, Gavin. It's fine. We'll think of something else." She weakly smiled and closed the door. He heard Erik mutter something. "I know," she replied. Their voices faded into the silence as they walked away.

Gavin rubbed the bridge of his nose, feeling his self-worth fall a little. He didn't want to walk around with a loaded gun, especially now that he had a child on the way. It was guaranteed that he would somehow misuse it, and he didn't even know if he was capable of killing anyone. No. Their best chance was to act as quickly as possible and avoid bringing guns into this. Nadir had even come in two nights ago and given him some tips for quickly searching the information system. After it was all over, they would escape to the outskirts of the city before _Falcon_ caught up with them. Yes, he convinced himself. They could do this without firearms.

He didn't get much sleep that night, and Christine didn't return until after one in the morning. A light fog had settled outside, and a damp stench hung in the air. "Did you get everything figured out?" he asked when she entered. She nodded but said nothing, her mouth twisted to the side in thought. He was becoming tired of all the mysteriousness. "So what's going on?"

She glanced at him. "We'll try to keep you safe."

Gavin gave up with his questions. The situation had become far too personal for him to remain professional.

Raoul knocked on the door late the next afternoon, wearing the hood of his winter coat up over his head. "Hey," he muttered. The muscles in his face were tense, and his eyes were weary. "How's it going here?"

"Fine," replied Gavin, trying to appear calm. "Did you make sure you weren't wearing a wire or anything?"

"I tried to. I wear new clothes whenever I come here. I've checked myself for any weird devices." He glanced away from them. "There's now a hidden camera in my room…" Christine gasped. "But I've known about it. I've been careful." Raoul sighed. "Who knows? If things look strange at the building, we'll call it off."

"Be careful," Christine murmured. "Please be careful. Make sure no one's watching you."

"We will," said Gavin. "We can only hope for the best. And we haven't seen anything suspicious around here." Erik made sure of that.

Christine quickly hugged each of them before they left, as though she were wishing them off to war. Gavin could see her watching out the window as they searched for a taxi. His heart was nervously pounding. All he had with him was his wallet, cell phone, some scribbled notes, and two blank disks. It was excruciatingly quiet in the vehicle, and both of the young men stared out the window in constant search of the unknown. Gavin thought he saw a shadow lurking near a building but noticed nothing on a second glance. All was quiet, the sun peeking out from a partly cloudy March sky.

Gavin shifted in the leather seat. He was wearing a tight and somewhat uncomfortable black suit to blend in with the crowds of wealthy people. His light blue collar was scratching his neck, and the layers of clothing were even too warm in the frigid weather. Still, he put up with it. Better to be uncomfortable than arrested. As the taxi drove up to the front of the towering building, Raoul turned toward him. "Just follow me," he stated. "If anyone says something, I'll talk to them."

Gavin took a calming breath as he climbed out and walked toward the glass entrance. Thankfully, no one gave him a second glance. Men and women in business attire were walking on all sides of him, chatting or looking over papers. Raoul wasn't bothered as he walked through a security checkpoint, and it was obvious that everyone knew he was. Noticing a metal detector, Gavin thanked God that he didn't have any weapons on him.

"He's with me. From another company," Raoul said with learned confidence. Gavin wondered if he was going to be forced to take out some form of identification, but the woman waved him through. He followed Raoul to the elevator, staring at the polished tiles, gold-trimmed walls, and overall elegance. A golden chandelier seemed to light each room, and he could guess that just the interior decoration of the first floor was worth a hundred times more than his apartment.

A classical piano tune played on the elevator as they rode upwards. "It'll look strange if I take you to my office," Raoul softly muttered, even though they were alone. "Plus, it might be bugged. Something weird happened and…Never mind. We'll just go to one of the computer stations. We should be able to get in from there."

Gavin wiped a light layer of perspiration from his forehead and could see that his companion was also nervous. They exited the elevator and went into a room with dozens of computer booths. No one looked at them as they sat down on the swiveling cushioned chairs. Raoul logged on with several passwords and moved so that Gavin could begin his search. He then started a casual conversation with a woman behind them, and they both broke into soft laughter. At first Gavin was irritated by the noise, but he decided that it was probably a smart move. Concentrating, he desperately began to investigate, glancing down at his nearly illegible notes every so often.

Using a few of Nadir's tips, he was able to get the keywords highlighted in the massive documents. Gavin concealed a smile as he discovered a few desired addresses and phone numbers. Whether they were still relevant remained to be seen, but at least he had them.

"How are you doing?" muttered Raoul, plopping down in a chair beside him.

"Okay," he whispered. There was too much to look through, but he was in the right place. Very discreetly, Gavin slipped a disk into the drive and attempted to save what he could. He was likely leaving his footprints all over the database, but it didn't matter. They would get out of London as soon as possible.

A loud clinking sound caused him to flinch. He turned around to see a mustached repairman in a grey uniform climb up a ladder and begin to work on a vent. Raoul stared at the man. "Something wrong?" asked Gavin.

Raoul shook his head. "No. He was just up on my floor yesterday."

"Oh." The queasy feeling in his stomach was growing. "We need to get out of here soon." The computer grunted several times as it finished saving, and Gavin quickly began to search again, his heart throbbing in his ears. Panic was cluttering his mind, making him unable to concentrate. He finally found some reports on chemicals and contaminants. In the case that something was wrong with the disk, he jotted down a few of the most important facts. Gavin opened the slot and pulled the disk out, noticing that about an hour had already gone by. "Let's go. I've got a bad feeling."

Raoul nodded and stood. They attempted not to run to the elevator, and Raoul continued to cheerfully greet anyone that passed by them. As the doors closed, another man began to rush down the hall with the intent of climbing inside. Neither of them made an attempt to hold the doors open, and Gavin breathed a sigh of relief as they traveled downward. Once at the bottom, he rushed toward the transparent front doors, dismayed to see that it was growing darker out. The lower floor was less busy than it had been earlier. "Almost there," he muttered beneath his breath.

As they arrived at the front entrance, Gavin heard another elevator door ring open behind them. The man in the grey uniform stepped out, and Gavin turned to look into a pair of indifferent black eyes. "Go!" he whispered.

"That's just the repairman," Raoul stated with a swallow.

"Did you personally check that fact?" Gavin hissed. Raoul gaped. "Forget it. Go! We need to get out of here." Holding his breath, he opened the front doors and began to run toward a taxi. As he got into the vehicle, he glanced behind them again and saw no one. _Was it all in his head?_ He rubbed his hands over his face and took a deep breath, before giving the driver the correct street.

"Do you think we're okay?" Raoul softly asked after several minutes, his face pale. "Was someone really coming?"

"I don't know." He stared out the windows. "Maybe it was just paranoia. Maybe there's nothing."

Shaking his head, Raoul turned to stare out the window. The rest of the ride was quiet, and the sky continued to grow darker. After paying the fare at their destination, they slowly climbed out of the car and began walking up the concrete path to the door. A light was still on in the hotel room, and Gavin half-expected to see Christine looking out the window with a smile of relief. Raoul remained a step in front of him, obviously desperate to get to the door.

Just as he raised his foot to climb up the set of steps, Gavin heard a soft click behind him. Before he could turn, a faint cry of pain and then a gruesome _snap _echoed into the silence. Gavin and Raoul both whirled around to watch as an unknown dark-haired man fell face-first to the ground, head bent at a sideways angle. His hazel eyes were still wide-open, and his mouth was formed into a permanent 'o.' A semiautomatic pistol slid out of his right hand and clattered to the pavement.

"Holy…" Raoul whispered, staring down at the body. "What the…Oh my God…"

Once Gavin recovered from his shock, he shakily stepped toward the corpse. "He was about to shoot me," he whispered, feeling nausea overtake him.

Raoul walked over and stared down. "What the hell happened to him? It looks like…" As he stared at the man's crooked neck, Raoul's eyes flickered with recognition. His face drained of color. In one motion, he bent down and grabbed the gun, before frantically looking at their surroundings. "We need to get inside! Now!" He raced for the door.

Gavin automatically started to follow. The irate tenor voice in his ear stopped him.

"_There is possibly another assailant inside the room. You are in far over your head, boy." _

"Stop!" Gavin loudly hissed at Raoul. He took a step backward. In his growing horror, he also now wondered where Christine was. "Don't go in there!"

Still clutching the pistol, Raoul looked back at him. "You don't understand," he shakily replied, blue eyes wild with fright. "You don't know. _He's_ here! _He's_ out here!"

Raoul turned and opened the door.


	62. Choosing Sides

Well, this chapter has a bit of everything in it. The drama, angst, action, romance. I hope no one is offended by Raoul's portrayal. Please remember that he's spent the last year hating Erik and for good reason. That aside, I hope you enjoy this chapter.

**Read and Review!!!**

One murder for his Christine. Soon to be two if his assumption was correct.

The entire situation was disgusting. Christine had sent two boys to do a job that five men wouldn't have successfully accomplished. One was a coward, and the other was a wretched moron. And so it took a monster to put up a decent fight against _Falcon_.

The idiot had already opened the door to the hotel room. _He _wasn't quick enough to wrap the lasso around de Chagny and yank him backward, at least not without happily killing him. A triangular patch of light formed on the walkway as the entrance to the room was revealed. Gavin Lewis stood at a distance, gaping in terror.

The room appeared to be empty, but his instincts continued to tell him that all was not yet revealed. From what he had seen of the first assailant, the hit was primarily directed at Mr. Lewis. There could very well be another attacker hiding in the closet or bathroom, waiting for the right moment to shoot.

Still standing outside, de Chagny turned around, attempting to wave the pistol in several different directions at once. "Get in here!" he shouted. "We need to get inside!"

Mr. Lewis took a hesitant step toward the door. "Stay where you are!" _he_ hissed, continuing to use ventriloquism so that de Chagny could not hear him.

"Come on!" shouted de Chagny, putting a foot in the room. "There's a nutcase out here. Get inside!"

His bony fingers curled around the snake-like weapon, and his blood heated with anger. _Perhaps Christine would be content with only one of her friends surviving? One was better than none, after all. _

Mr. Lewis shook his head. "I think we're safer out here."

"What? Why? We'll be safer inside!" The idiot continued to point the gun in various directions, obviously searching the darkness for a yellow-eyed target.

"Get that dimwit away from the room!" _he_ finally growled, becoming irate and impatient.

Mr. Lewis nodded and swallowed. "Come on, Raoul! Let's go somewhere else. There's nothing out here. We should leave."

De Chagny glanced back into the seemingly empty room. "What? I-Wait. Where's Christine?"

"That's what I'm saying," he gratefully replied. "Something's not right here." Mr. Lewis glanced to the side and shakily whispered, "Where is Christine?"

"Safe," _he_ harshly rasped. If he had not possessed the judgment to know that this would end in a disaster, she might be dead. Christine was now hiding underground with Nadir.

De Chagny slowly walked away from the door, his gaze still darting from corner to corner. "Do you think Christine's in danger? Where is she?"

"I think she's fine," Mr. Lewis replied. "I think we should leave." He nervously waited for more directions.

"Go to the side of the building," _he_ quietly directed. "Behind the wall. Stay out of sight and remain silent."

Mr. Lewis nodded. "Get over here." He waved de Chagny over to the shadows and crouched down.

"You don't understand!" exclaimed the wretched boy. "There's an evil-"

"Just shut up for a moment!" Mr. Lewis snapped back. "Be quiet."

De Chagny muttered something beneath his breath and then became silent.

_All for Christine. Every bit of this nightmare. To keep her from crying over their worthless lives…_

The three of them motionlessly waited, and _he_ kept his eyes on the door. There was always the possibility that no one had been in the room, but it was also very unlike _Falcon_ to only have one man for such a job.

After a minute passed, _he_ began to curse himself for his misjudgment. Suddenly, though, the door of the room softly squeaked open. A dark-skinned man exited, also holding a semiautomatic and looking around for his target. His mouth was twisted into a frown of irritation and confusion; nothing had likely gone as planned.

_He_ considered the idea of torturing information out of the man first. Both de Chagny and the assassin were armed and ready to fire at anything that moved, though, and so it seemed most wise to get the job done as quickly as possible. As soon as the assailant was in range, _he_ threw the lasso with perfect aim. The normal rush came with the sharp snap of the neck, and the man fell to the ground with a soft thump. The gun fell out of the assailant's hand, and _he_ picked it up and jumped back into the darkness, figuring that it wouldn't be a bad idea to begin building up a small arsenal.

Mr. Lewis gaped and drew back, his face turning green. Now what?" he sickly whispered, not even bothering to be discreet. "Is that the last one?"

"Oh, God," moaned de Chagny as he stared at the second corpse. "He's out here!" The boy pointed the gun at a swaying tree, before lowering it back to his side. "He's going to kill us!"

_I would like nothing better, boy. _

Mr. Lewis rubbed his hands over his face and searched for direction. "Now what?" he asked again.

"Take the gun from the idiot," _he_ evenly stated, still using ventriloquism.

Mr. Lewis shook his head and turned to Raoul. "Give me that!" he exclaimed, tentatively reaching toward the firearm. "Stop waving it around! You're going to kill someone."

"What?" the boy retorted. "You're not getting this! There's a dangerous criminal out here! He's evil. He's going to kill us!"

"Give me the damned gun!"

_His _sanity was wavering. It was like looking after two infants, and he was very near to strangling one of them. Thankfully, Mr. Lewis was finally able to get possession of the pistol. He then stared down at the gun as if he didn't know what to do with it.

"Do not be even more of an imbecile. Keep it," _he_ commanded. Mr. Lewis sighed but obeyed. "Now listen as I give you directions. Be quick!"

"Where are we going?" asked de Chagny, watching as his companion stood. "We need to get to Christine before that monster finds her.

_There would be no pleasanter sound than the snap of that boy's neck. It would be the grandest symphony of all! _

_For Christine. It was all for Christine. _

"Listen to me," Mr. Lewis stated through gritted teeth, turning to face the halfwit. "Those two men just tried to kill me. And now they're both dead. Doesn't that tell you something about Erik? Think about this."

"But you don't understand what's going on!"

"Maybe I don't! But I know that we're going to be killed if we stay out here. And if I have to knock you unconscious to keep us alive, I'll do it! For the love of God, let's get out of here! Calm down and follow me. All right?"

De Chagny glared but silently began to follow.

_He _gave directions to the hideaway, and Mr. Lewis was successfully able to obey commands. Every so often, he could hear the wretched boy pay him another insult. He tensed in rage, knowing that de Chagny would give Christine a recount of all that had occurred, of the murders. De Chagny would want to get her far away from the monster; the idiot would want to take her back!

The familiar red haze descended over him, clouding his thought process. And yet Christine would despise him if he killed de Chagny. And so _he_ was again stuck in some horrible place that he couldn't escape.

They finally came to the desired entrance that led to a basement of some old brick building. From the basement, one could access several of the abandoned tunnels. Perhaps the entire establishment had been of use during the war, or perhaps the government had more secrets than they liked to share. But it was all very useful. "Go in the door on your left," he evenly directed. "Go down the stairs. Turn left in the first hallway and right in the second. State loudly that it is you."

Mr. Lewis closed his eyes and deeply inhaled. He opened the door but paused before he went inside. "Thank you," he murmured.

"Why here?" asked de Chagny. "What's down here?"

They disappeared behind the door before _he_ completely lost his mind.

* * *

Christine jumped up when she heard footsteps, a felt blanket slipping off her legs and pooling at her feet. Nadir picked up the revolver off an upturned wooden crate and turned toward the door of their tiny room. She had been instructed to run through a side door if anyone suspicious came down, but she didn't have the heart to leave Nadir by himself. She could only pray that they weren't in danger. 

"Hello?" asked a muffled voice. "It's Gavin."

Relief slowed her pounding heart. Nadir glanced into the hallway, perhaps to make sure that it wasn't some sort of setup. He then set down the gun and stepped out. "We're here," he stated. "I-" He paused, and his jaw clenched. "Oh my. Well. Good evening, Mr. de Chagny."

She ran out of the room, knowing that something had happened for Erik to take the risk of leading Raoul down there. Both of her friends were pale, their disheveled hair sticking to their foreheads and their chests heaving. Raoul had frozen in his steps and was staring at Nadir with extreme distrust. "What are you doing here?" He noticed her. "Christine! Thank God you're okay! But what the heck is going on?"

Gavin tiredly rubbed his forehead and gave her a helpless look.

"I…Nadir is helping us," she replied, desperately trying to think of an explanation. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you. I was afraid you'd get upset and not help."

"Of course I'm upset!" he exclaimed, his voice hoarse. I don't even understand what's going on. How long has he been here? And…" Raoul stepped forward and tightly grabbed both her hands. "Christine! That monster is nearby. He killed two guys right in front of me. He snapped their necks! I know it was him! We need to get out of here! Out of this damned country!"

"He killed two men who were trying to murder us," Gavin softly cut in. Noticing that he was still carrying a gun, Gavin quickly held it out toward Nadir. "He saved our lives."

"Where is he?" Nadir asked, carefully taking the pistol and eyeing it with appreciative curiosity.

Gavin shrugged. "I don't know. He didn't come down with us."

Raoul was looking between them as though they were all insane. "What are you talking about? You know he's been here? For how long? All this time?"

"Not everything is what it seems," Christine gently replied. "I know you're angry. But they're helping us. They hate the company, too. That's what all of this has been about."

"You mean…you're working with that evil…"

"Stop it!" she exclaimed, taking a step backward. "Just stop it. He's not evil."

Raoul shook his head and closed his eyes, attempting to compose himself. When he opened his lids, his gaze fell to her hands. An expression of horrified realization crossed his pale face, and he looked her directly in the eye. "Christine. Oh, God. Don't you dare tell me that's _his_ ring. Don't you dare say that to me. Not after he ruined our lives." Her silence said everything. "Oh, God. You can't be serious. Have you lost your mind? After everything?" He turned away from her and buried his face in his hands, shoulders hunched.

"Calm down, young man," Nadir softly stated. "We are on your side. We want the same thing that you do."

"Get away from me!" Raoul snapped. He turned to look at her again. "You willingly left to find him that night, didn't you? He's a murderer, Christine. A cold-blooded killer, and you went to him! You've been with him all this time, haven't you?"

"You don't understand everything. You don't know him. You don't know-"

Raoul held up his hands. "I don't want to know. I don't want to know any more! I can't stay here, though." He started to take a step toward the door.

"You can't go back out there!" she exclaimed. "It's dangerous. They'll kill you!"

"Mr. de Chagny," began Nadir. "I will not have you leading them down to us. And Erik will not allow it either, I imagine."

Raoul ignored him and turned to her again, his eyes pained. "If you come with me now, I think we can get on a plane and escape. We'll put all this behind us. We'll get away from _Falcon_ and that monster, and we'll-"

She frowned and shook her head. "You know I won't do that. Stay here, Raoul. We'll all get out of this together. Help us."

"I'm not staying here! I'm not working with _him_! It's just as bad as working for Leonie!" He turned around and began to march toward the exit.

"Here we go again," muttered Nadir, before lunging forward and wrapping an arm around Raoul's arms and torso.

"Hey! Get off of me!" Raoul shouted, struggling to get out of the tight hold. Nadir made a quick movement, and her friend suddenly became limp. His eyes closed as a soft groan escaped his lips, and he slouched toward the ground. Christine gasped and ran over to help Nadir catch Raoul and carry him into the room.

"I had told Erik that we would not need these any longer," Nadir muttered, holding up a syringe. "I suppose he knew better."

She retrieved a blanket to place behind Raoul's head and stood back, placing a hand over her mouth as she stared down. "Everything is such a mess," she murmured. Gavin followed behind them and leaned against the wall, watching everything with a numbed expression. "What happened?" she frantically asked, turning to face him.

He blinked as her voice snapped him out of his trance. "We were attacked at the hotel," he shakily began, clearing his throat. Gavin took a deep breath and then told her the entire horrifying story. When he was finished, he looked closely at her. "Did you tell Erik to follow us?"

She nodded, feeling ill at how bad everything had become because of her decision to return. Her friends had nearly died, and Erik had been forced to kill again. "He wasn't able to go in the building with you," she stated. "That was the worst part. But Erik thought that they would be more likely to follow you and see what you were hiding. He even thought that they might have already had an idea of where we were staying! Erik agreed to go if I told him that I would stay with Nadir at a different location."

"I see. Well, I would be dead if it wasn't for him," Gavin replied. "I guess I'll let my 'no more murders' rule slide for tonight." His expression became serious, and he glanced around the dim room. "Did you happen to get any of my stuff before you left? My computer?"

"We took all we could. Everything should be down here."

"That's the best news I've heard all night."

"You're sure that Erik was okay?" she asked, missing his presence. "He wasn't hurt?"

"No." Gavin frowned. "Well, he never actually let me see him. But he sounded okay."

Nadir interrupted. "It's possible that he went to take care of the bodies. That would make it less obvious that he's back in the city."

"Oh," she murmured. Both loving gratitude and sadness descended upon her. Erik had gone some time without taking a life. But what other choice had there been? She glanced at her unconscious friend. "I just hope I can get Raoul to understand all this. I hope he'll listen to me."

"Maybe after he gets some sleep, he'll be more accepting," Gavin replied. "I think he was scared out of his mind tonight. He couldn't distinguish his friend from his enemy."

"Yeah." They stood there in silence for awhile. Gavin finally began to organize his belongings, checking the disks to make sure they were undamaged. He then took a seat and leaned his head back against the grey wall, lightly dozing after a few moments. Nadir sat beside the door, a heavy sigh escaping his lips. Her body ached with exhaustion, but she also wanted to wait for some sign of Erik. She wanted to reassure herself that none of his soul had been chipped away by that evening's events.

"I am sure he is fine," said Nadir, noticing her furrowed brow.

"But Leonie knows something is going on now. What if she's looking for him? What if-"

"_Christine…_" Erik's voice murmured in her ear. She jumped up in surprise and searched the room for him. "_I am outside the door._"

Christine raced over to Nadir. "Erik's here," she whispered, moving to grab the knob.

Mr. Khan gently stepped in her way. "Let us make sure of this before we do anything rash." He cracked the door open and looked up at the familiar looming shadow, before opening it all the way. "Erik. Good to have you back." She moved toward him with open arms. "Be careful," Nadir whispered, closely eyeing his friend.

She wondered why Mr. Khan had given her words of warning. Then, she noticed an odd glint in Erik's eyes, a tinge of vibrant red mixed with the yellow. "You are here!" Erik exclaimed as he grabbed her wrist, his long fingers wrapping around the narrow limb and pulling her closer to him. "You are here and not with him now. And he will not take you. Not again." Christine stared up at him with slight shock.

"Erik," said Nadir with soft firmness. "I know you have had a difficult night. Try to pull yourself together."

Erik glared at him. "But she is mine! And not his. Never his!"

"Think about where you are…what you're doing," Mr. Khan tiredly cautioned.

"What's wrong?" she asked, squinting up at him. "Erik? Look at me. Why are you acting like this? What happened?"

"You--" He appeared confused at the sound of her voice, and then the strange glimmer faded. Erik quickly released her wrist and took a step away from her. "Forgive me," he muttered with a tone of self-disgust. "The night has gotten to my mind, I fear. Perhaps I should go back out and leave you. Forgive me. "

"Are you hurt?" she asked, looking him over for bloodstains.

"No."

"Good." Christine watched as he turned and began to walk away, still not quite understanding. "Erik! Don't leave. What's wrong?" She reached out and touched his shoulder. "They would have died if you hadn't been there tonight."

"It was only for you," he stated with his face turned away, as though appalled at the thought of being heroic.

"Well, thank you." She walked up beside him and pressed a kiss near his ear. "Thank you for keeping them alive. You don't know how much it means to me."

Erik seemed to finally relax, his fingertips brushing against her back. "Where is the boy?"

"In the room…unconscious. He didn't handle everything so well. I think I can get him to understand, though."

"He will try to take you."

"No. He'll get over it soon. Raoul won't…take me away."

He silently stared at her, before facing forward again. "I had best leave and keep watch." She frowned as he started to go. "You may come for awhile, if you wish. There should be no danger quite yet. And we will be high up!" She quickly took his hand in acceptance and smiled as she walked beside him. Erik turned a corner and led her up several flights of stairs, keeping a moderate pace so that she could keep up. As he opened a metal door, she found herself on a tiny balcony that was fifteen or so feet from the ground. Only an air conditioner sat upon it, leaving just enough room for two people to stand. She stared down at the chipped and puddle-lined streets, strangely unafraid. "It does not give one the best view," said Erik. "But it is ideal for finding intruders. And no one will ever notice us."

"You find the strangest places."

"I have learned to go where no one else ever does."

As she often did when they were alone, Christine removed his mask and kissed him. She hugged him to her, her hands beneath his coat and against the cool white shirt, feeling like she could never get close enough. His twisted lips pressed against her forehead, leaving a cool sensation on her skin, and he started to lean down and kiss her neck. Several voices from below caused her to look up with alarm. "Who's that?"

Erik jerked up and glanced over the edge with disdain. "Just some adolescent boys. There will always be vile, irritating boys, won't there? I will never escape them."

"But I don't care about them." Christine rested her head against his chest, before curiously glancing up at him. Months ago, she remembered wondering if Erik was able to smile. The thin side of his mouth was now turned upward while the bulged side remained in a permanent straight line. For anyone else, it would have been a half-smile. But for Erik, it was a smile.

She studied him a bit too long. He started to turn away from her, the smile disappearing. When she kissed his yellowed cheek, though, his eyes softened again. Even on his twisted features, she could read his expression…his epiphany. The glow vanished as he closed his eyes, and he spoke in a choked whisper. "You really want me."

And she thought that maybe…_maybe _he finally believed that she was there to stay.

* * *

"Get the bloody phone, Emily! Before it rings again! It's giving me a headache." 

Emily softly groaned as she rose up from the sofa and brushed her hair out of her face, hoping that the sound would just go away. She'd been enjoying an afternoon nap under the skylights of Frederick's new Caribbean home, dreaming of her children in London. She should send them a gift soon, maybe something from one of the tourist shops.

Emily squinted in the bright sunlight and answered the phone, her voice groggy. "Hello?"

"Emily, dear," said a voice that made her cringe. "How are you? Enjoying the sunshine? Enjoying your _job_?" There was something even more unpleasant than usual about Leonie's voice.

"I'm fine," she replied. "It's very nice here. I'm enjoying my job."

"How lovely," Leonie chirped. "Is dear Freddie there? I'd like to talk to him."

"Let me see." Emily walked into the spacious den, the fluffy carpet squishing beneath her toes. Frederick was reclining in an armchair with his feet propped up on a stool, trying to sleep through a tennis match on television. "Mr. Oliver," she nervously began. "It's Ms. Neumanns."

"Tell her to go to hell," he curtly replied.

Emily miserably frowned. "Mr. Oliver is very busy," she stated. "He'll call you back later."

"No I won't!" he growled, turning over on his side. "I'm done with it."

"I see," murmured Leonie. "Tell dear Freddie that if he doesn't talk to me, I'll have him dragged by what's left of his hair back to this country and blamed for every single thing that's ever gone wrong!"

Emily shrunk back. She'd never heard Leonie sound so angry; her normally sweet voice was nearly demonic. "Mr. Oliver? Ms. Neumanns really wants to talk to you. It sounds very important."

"It's always important with Leonie," Frederick muttered with a laugh. "Ask her how de Chagny is doing. Poor boy didn't know what he was getting himself into."

"How's Mr. de Chagny?" she enquired with a swallow.

"_Get Frederick on the damned phone now, you stupid twit!"_

Emily dropped the telephone on the floor and ran out of the room in tears.


	63. Conscience

This is probably the last slower chapter. If not this one, then definitely the next. We're coming upon the final part of this story, the climax, and things are going to get stressful soon. Hope you continue to enjoy!

**Read and Review!!!**

_Click. Tap. _

Black boots walked atop dirty linoleum tiles, closer and closer.

_Click. Tap._

They were near his cell now, right outside the thick, metal door.

His stale breath rushed out of his invisible nostrils; his body prepared itself for agony. What day was it? No. He never knew what day it was. One day in hell was the same as the next and the next and the next…

Still, the prison guards came in patterns. Most avoided him as though he were diseased. (Well, he probably was contaminated with some bacteria by now.) A handful of them were skilled at the art of torture and humiliation. And then there was one…Yes, there was one.

_Click. Tap._

_He _writhed on the dirty blanket and curled into a ball, wondering if this would be an evening of pain. Or morning? At least a month had passed since he was last dragged to the frigid floor with three guns pointed at his head. And then he was bound and-- Was it a month? Two months? He pressed his coiled body against the padded wall and felt the coldness through the thin material of the prison uniform.

At one time he'd had hard walls.

They'd been removed after he'd repeatedly slammed his head against the plaster and knocked himself unconscious. It hadn't even been attempted suicide, not really. He'd simply…_snapped_!

_Click. Tap._

"Hello?" The voice was soft: a gentle baritone. It was the one guard.

A crazed, high-pitched laugh of relief escaped his twisted mouth. He uncurled and spread out onto his back, stretching his skeletal arms out to the side like featherless wings. He chuckled again. _No pain tonight. Not tonight. _

"You are there," said the guard.

He tilted his head back against the rancid pillow, feeling the coolness press against his barren head. His hair was like the rest of him, fading away to nothing but a few pathetic black strands. "Where else would Erik go?" He stared up at the ceiling and grinned, one eye twitching in its socket.

"I suppose you are right. Where would you go?" A long pause followed. A cough. "This is my last night here. I've got a job working for my brother. I'm moving. I…can't take it here anymore." The last sentence was quiet and said more to himself.

_He _didn't respond. All hope had already been lost long ago, on a day that he realized his body was immune to starvation; this was merely another bruise upon his mind.

"Is there any last thing I can get for you tonight?" the guard asked, a snag of regret in his voice. "A magazine? Something to read? Something nice to eat."

His twisted lips parted. His fingers curled and dug into the sheets, and he arched his back upward as though some invisible torture were being inflicted upon him. One last ember of hope was burning him. "Yes. You can do something for Erik."

"What, Erik?" He was the only one of them who ever used his name.

"Kill me."

A moment of silence passed, and the guard sighed. "I know you are innocent. I do. Maybe you'll be released one day. Maybe there will be justice."

_His _body shook with a harsh, mocking cackle. "Yes. One day! One day!" He sounded like a demented parrot.

"Fine. I will stop telling you lies. I don't what to do. I've never known. This place has drained me."

_He_ stared at the ceiling and grinned as the guard fought his conscience.

Consciences were for the weak-minded.

"Do you really want me to kill you?" the guard softly asked.

He relaxed his back against the bed again and stared at the wall. "No greater gift would ever have been bestowed upon me," he replied. "You know what they will do to Erik once you are gone. You know." Something was spinning in his mind; fragments of thoughts were taking shape and coming together. In his madness, he could see a bigger picture. "Please!" _he_ whined, grabbing a tuft of his own hair and pulling it in anticpation. "Kill me. Tell them you had no choice. Be kind and give Erik mercy. _Give it to him! Give it to him!_"

Two certain paths became clear. _Escape or death. _

"You poor, crazy bastard," the guard whispered. "There's nothing left of you, is there? You're just here for their amusement."

The door clicked several times as it was unlocked, and the guard walked inside, holding a gun directly toward him. For a second, _he_ was nearly in shock. It was the first time that less than three men had come into his cell. It was the first time that he wasn't immediately advanced upon with three firearms pointed at his head and shackled and gagged. And maimed.

They stared at each other, yellow eyes to dark brown ones. The middle-aged man paled and swallowed as he examined the grotesque face of the prisoner, but the glint of sympathy remained. The guard held the gun higher and prepared to fire directly into the middle of his skull, a tear trickling down his cheek.

But the guard hesitated. He hesitated a second too long.

_His _mind analyzed the situation within that second, the path becoming clear, and he jumped to his feet in a whir. Pain shot up his leg after years of abuse, but the ache was numbed with icy resolve. He had the guard by the throat within seconds, choking off his airway. With his other hand, he twisted the man's wrist until the bone snapped and the gun slid from his fingers.

The guard whimpered, his eyes glazing over with pain and understanding. He tilted his head upward and tried to breathe. "Oh, God. You're going to kill us all, aren't you?" he choked out. "You wanted this."

"Erik thinks he has earned this right," _he_ murmured, still grinning. "Erik…deserves his turn now." Adrenaline poured into his broken body, preparing him for whatever was to come.

"Please…" The guard closed his eyes with the final plea and slumped to the ground.

And then _he_ grabbed the gun and raced out of the room. Somewhere he found a rope and a heavy metal bar. And he had gone from one hall to the next, creatively killing. Anything that moved or looked at him died. Horrified faces swam together in a bloody collage, and futile screams for mercy blended into a final concerto. At some point, he stole clothes from one of the thinner corpses and ridded himself of the disgusting uniform. And then he ran until he was finally outside.

Moonlight illuminated his monstrous form as a warm wind swept against his mangled face. Free from his cell but still trapped in himself. He cried out.

And then he woke up.

* * *

Christine opened her eyes and saw Erik staring down at her. The previous evening, he'd told her that she could stay with him or return downstairs with the others. A tender kiss had been her answer. They'd found a chair, and she'd slept in his arms on the upper level floor as he continued to stare out the window, keeping watch. 

His eyes were now unnerved, and his heart was pounding in her ear. "Did you sleep?" she asked. The first lights were beginning to enter the sky.

"Briefly and unwisely." He reached for his mask.

"You have to sleep sometimes." She kissed his cheek, and his hand fell away from the cold, black porcelain. There were times when she wanted to suggest that he find a mask made of a more comfortable material. But then Christine thought it might imply that she wanted him to wear a mask more often, which wasn't true. And so she kept silent.

Erik said nothing. He wrapped an arm around her middle and nearly clung to her, his cheek coming to rest on her head. His disturbed eyes still puzzled her. "Is something wrong?"

"No." He glanced toward the window, briefly glaring at the intruding daylight. "I had just forgotten."

"What?"

"I recalled how I escaped. An act of mercy gone awry."

She took his hand. "What happened?"

"You should not have to know these things."

"But I want to know. I've told you that nothing about the past will ever change anything."

Erik stared at her for several moments and then spoke into her hair. "I asked one of the prison guards to put me out of my misery. But he was too slow in doing so. The man was either too inept or too humane, but he should not have taken up that vocation." He chuckled. "Perhaps that is why he was leaving."

"Erik! He was going to kill you?" Her heart dropped.

"He was killing me to be kind, Christine. He was granting me a favor. It was…" Erik closed his eyes. "I do not recall much outside of that day. But I believe that he said he knew I was innocent."

"Is he still alive?"

"I do not remember. Probably not. He fell. And then I left."

"What was his name?"

"Emerson was his last name; I do not know his first."

Erik's voice was becoming shriller, and his muscles were tensing. Christine ceased with her questions, knowing that they had made more progress than she could have hoped for. She silently rested against him, feeling his fingers stroke her hair, until something else tugged at her mind. "Erik?"

"Yes?"

"What's your last name? After everything I've been told, I still don't know it."

He shifted. "My last name?" he asked with a wry laugh. "Ah. Christine. I have none. Or rather I have three."

"Why do you have three?"

"My mother did not think me worthy of my father's name. So I took her name for some time. Not that I ever went to any place where a last name was required, you see. And when I went to India, I took Nadir's. After that, I had none. I am Erik and nothing else."

"Khan," she murmured. "What were the other two?"

"It is insignificant."

"But you need a last name." _I need a last name. _She purposefully brushed the ring against his fingers.

Erik sharply inhaled. He silently stared out the window and then picked up his mask, his hands shaking. He looked down at it before finally speaking, his voice hollow. "When this is all over, perhaps I will tell you a name."

"All right." She smiled. "I'll wait, then."

They clutched onto each other until lights began to turn on in the buildings opposite theirs. Erik then tied his mask back on and prepared to stand up. "Let us see if the other three have survived the night," he muttered. "Personally, I would consider two out of three a grand victory."

* * *

Nadir couldn't help but feel relieved when Christine came down the stairs. She was slightly disheveled, but there was a smile on her face and a blush in her cheeks. Mr. Khan knew he should rid himself of all notions that Erik would ever harm her. But it was so very difficult to let go of the past, especially when the previous evening had given him a glimpse of Erik's former self. "Good morning," he said, his mouth dry. "Mr. de Chagny is beginning to stir. I do not know whether I should sedate him again or not." 

She nodded and frowned. "I'll try to talk to him when he wakes up." Erik soon came down behind her, now appearing composed and aware of his surroundings. They stood close together, and Nadir almost felt like he was intruding when he spoke again.

"I suppose we will need food," he began. "How long do you think we will be here?"

"I will find food," Erik replied. "And I have no idea how long we will be confined to this hole." They all headed toward the room, and Nadir softly opened the door, not wanting to awaken Mr. de Chagny earlier than necessary.

Gavin had already been up for an hour, typing away on his computer, and Nadir hadn't disturbed him. Sensing someone in the doorway, Mr. Lewis finally looked up with a smile. "Morning, Christine. Nadir." He cleared his throat and nodded once. "Erik."

"Morning." Christine walked behind him to look at his screen. "Find anything?"

"I did, actually. Those files we saved were awesome." Gavin's tired eyes lit up a little, and he sat up straight. "_Falcon_ was responsible for toxic poisonings in several countries, usually in poorer areas where people didn't have much of an education. They also liked to hire recent immigrants who didn't know the system or weren't even legal residents." He turned back to the computer and clicked down on the page. "What happened in France is vaguer. But there are records of lawsuits, and the company definitely had contact with the health facilities down there."

"Is it enough?" she asked. "Can we put them in prison?"

"Not yet," Gavin replied. "I have to organize it into a story. Or at least give a summary of what we're trying to prove. If we just handed this over, it could take the authorities years to figure out what was going on. By that time, I'm sure Leonie would have found a way out of it." He ran a hand over his mouth. "We also don't really have any records of the murders on _Falcon's_ behalf. I need to go where I have the Internet and phone service. I have to make some calls."

She eagerly nodded. "Oh! Erik could…" Christine paused and looked up. Nadir could feel his masked friend tense; it was almost amusing. He also noticed Mr. de Chagny's hand twitch; that was not so amusing. "Erik?" she hopefully began. "Will you take Gavin aboveground?"

Erik tilted his head back and muttered something. "We will do what has to be done to get this over with as soon as possible," he gravely replied. Raoul suddenly groaned, and Erik stepped backward, casting a glare toward the young man. "But I had best not stay here any longer."

"Where are you going?" Christine asked, walking over to him.

"To keep watch again and also ensure that you do not starve to death. And to a place where I will not lose my mind when the boy starts screaming and searching for a weapon." He gently touched her cheek. "I will see you later."

Nadir left the couple to say their goodbyes, feeling strangely nostalgic. He crouched down beside Mr. de Chagny and prepared for a fight. After Erik was gone, Christine knelt beside him.

Raoul opened his eyes and stared between them in confusion, his lips parting slightly. As the memories of the previous day returned, anger settled over his features. He tried to sit up but then clutched his head and fell back onto the floor.

"Be careful, Raoul," she murmured. "Don't get up too fast."

He refused to look at her or Nadir. Twisting his head to the side, Raoul finally noticed Gavin. "What time is it?"

Mr. Lewis looked up at him. "Morning. A little past six."

"Good," Raoul hoarsely muttered. "It's almost light out." His eyes darted around the room in search of something else. "I don't have to worry about being attacked by a madman."

"Erik won't attack you," said Christine. "He's on our side. Please listen. I know you're mad, but you've already helped us so much." She tried to rest a hand on his shoulder, but he flinched away from her.

"I'm helping one criminal take down another. Great."

Gavin side-glanced him. "Think of it as the lesser of two evils, then."

"That's pretty much it," Raoul replied. Finally, he looked at her, the hurt in his eyes betraying his glower. "How long have you been with him, Christine?"

"It doesn't matter…"

"How long?"

She sighed. "Since last fall."

He shook his head in disgust. "What? Did you invite him out to visit you? Did you send each other postcards?"

She glared and drew away. "He found me and helped with a performance. Why can't you just-"

"And you didn't call the police as soon as you saw him?" he interrupted. "You didn't get help? You didn't at least call me? Leonie may be a criminal, but she was right. You do have Stockholm Syndrome or something. You need therapy or…"

Christine raised back her hand as though to slap him, before quickly lowering it back to her side and standing. "I don't care what you think," she retorted. "If you don't want to be my friend anymore, then fine. If you don't want to listen, then you don't have to. After this is over, we'll never see each other again, anyway."

"He's a murderer, Christine! They've executed people for one-fourth of what he's done!"

Christine ignored him. She walked over and sat down beside Gavin, drawing her knees up to her chin and wrapping her arms around them. Mr. Khan could practically picture them fighting over who won _Candy Land_.

Nadir offered the boy a hand, but Raoul sat up by himself and miserably stared at the floor. Mr. Khan wearily spoke. "Are you planning to attempt an escape from here, or can I trust you not to get all of us killed? No matter how angry you are, I cannot imagine you wishing to endanger her life."

Raoul clenched his jaw. "I'll stay until this is over," he muttered. "Maybe I can even get her to see what she's doing…"

Nadir shook his head. He refrained from telling the boy that Erik would have him hanging from a flagpole if he ever tried to take Christine away.

* * *

After Leonie had called for the fifth time within twenty-four hours, Frederick finally grabbed the receiver. The muscles in his face were beginning to twitch from the constant ringing. "What?" he growled into the phone, cursing her for damaging his blood pressure. 

"Frederick. So nice to talk to you," she practically hissed.

He rolled his eyes and fell into his armchair. "What the hell do you want?"

"I want you to know that nearly every activity we've ever been involved in is in the hands of de Chagny and some other boy. And that, dear, is a bit of a problem."

"_What?_" As she told him the story, his hands curled into fists. When Emily walked by with a basket of laundry, she stopped and stared at him, likely noticing the scarlet coloring of his face. "Why the hell didn't you just kill them off before they got that far?" he asked. "Were you trying to play with them, Leonie? Well, that just blew up in your face, didn't it?"

"I had no idea what they were doing! I wanted them followed to make sure that no one else was helping them and to see exactly what they were trying to steal. And it doesn't even make any sense! How could they still be alive? One of those hit men successfully assassinated two political officials in Africa. How could he fail to kill two stupid boys?"

"Well, obviously de Chagny didn't fight back."

"His little friend wasn't in the best shape either. No, Freddie." She paused. "What if that _thing_ is back?"

"And why would he be helping de Chagny?"

"I don't know. You have to come back."

He gave a deep-throated laugh. "And why should I get myself involved in your mess?"

"Because I'll blame you for everything. You left me here by myself. And it really hurt my feelings."

"You don't have feelings."

"They're going to figure out everything," she continued. "And you know I'll put spin on it. When they start pulling deformed baby skeletons out of the dirt, I'll say it was all your idea. I'll say you made jokes about it. And the murders. It was all you."

"You lying little…" He took a deep breath and attempted to compose himself, knowing his anger would only serve to amuse her. "And what makes you so sure I won't come there and put everything in my favor?"

"Because we can destroy this before _anyone_ finds out. You've always been a bit better with the violent matters, I'll admit. You were the one who put those two men in prison last autumn. Now help me end this. You'll spend your retirement in prison if you don't. And I don't think they have saunas in there, love."

"I can't believe this. Did you even-?" He stopped speaking, his mind going blank.

"Did I what, Freddie?"

"I forgot what I was going to say. Never mind." He put a hand to his aching forehead. "Fine. I'll get there. Give me a day. But I'm acting only in my best interest. And then I'm leaving for good."

"I'd expect no less from you."

He hung up the phone and uttered a long string of curses.

"What's wrong?" asked Emily, setting her basket down. "What did she want?"

"We're going back to that godforsaken country."

"Why?"

"Don't ask me questions, Emily. Get my…my…" He squeezed his eyes shut. "Damned woman is driving me insane. I can't even think anymore. Rub my shoulders."

She gently massaged his back. "You should just ignore her. She's probably lying."

Frederick shook his head. "No. She'll have things her way if I'm not there. We'll go back and end this within a day. I'll have my people armed and at every corner of the city. She has no idea how to spread out men and cover the area." He leaned his head against the cushion and took a deep breath. "Women should never be put into positions of power. Not ever again! Worst mistake of my life." He shifted and grunted. "Not so hard, Emily. You're going to break my shoulder."

"Sorry, Mr. Oliver."

"Women," he muttered. "Well, she's right about one thing. It's certainly a take-no-prisoners situation."

* * *

Gavin stared down at the list of numbers he wanted to call, mostly of victims and former employees, feeling more anxious by the moment. He knew that many of the numbers might be disconnected or belong to different residents. Even if he did get a hold of the contacts, most would likely refuse to speak out of fear or annoyance. If they didn't speak English, Erik might have to translate. And that led to another set of issues—like not scaring the witnesses to death. It was going to be a long shot. Still, there was always room for hope. 

He waved to Christine as he stepped into the hall to wait for Erik, and Nadir in turn went into the room. She'd been with Mr. Khan for much of the day, and Raoul had remained with Gavin while he typed, occasionally offering assistance. Several times, Mr. de Chagny had tried to begin a conversation about the horror that was Erik. Gavin just shook his head and murmured some words of empathy, before going back to his computer.

And after Christine had given him a quick account of Erik's escape, he'd had even more to look at. In the downloaded files, a certain name had popped up on a search, hidden in a scanned newspaper article. _Emerson._

Gavin checked to make sure that Erik wasn't nearby and spoke, eager to give her the bit of information. "Erik killed a lot of people at the prison," he began. "I looked it up."

"I know that," Christine replied, taking on a defensive tone. She'd been slightly irked ever since her argument with Raoul. "But he didn't have much of a choice that night."

"Erik killed a lot of people," Gavin continued, "but he didn't kill Curtis Emerson." She sharply glanced up. "Mr. Emerson was even quoted in the papers as saying that Erik somehow broke the locks and attacked him when he was beside the door. And then Erik supposedly stuffed his unconscious body in the cell. I'm not sure how far the investigation went, but no case was ever brought against Mr. Emerson. No one knew what happened."

She stared at the floor for a second. "That's good to know. I'm glad you found out."

"There's a spark of a conscience there," he stated, feeling content with his discovery of the day. "It's why you and Raoul are alive. It's why I'm alive. And it's why this guy is alive."

"I've told you that he has self-control."

"But you were kind of biased." She frowned, and he smiled. "I'm just a lot more comfortable with him following me…alone…at night…with a noose."

"Well, I could make Raoul go with you," she began, half-joking.

"No, no, no," he interrupted. "Erik and I will make do. The fewer people out there, the better."

"If you can't get anyone to talk to you, will we still have a chance?" she softly asked, folding her arms.

"Yeah," he tiredly replied. "It'll just take longer. Especially with Leonie around and interfering, we'll have to stay hidden." Gavin paused. "If Leonie wasn't there, it might all fall apart in a day."

Her lips pursed in thought, and he could see conflict in her eyes. And Gavin understood because the same consideration had just passed through his mind. _If Leonie were dead, it would be so much simpler…_But the thought left a bitter taste in his mouth. Self-defense in a life or death situation was one thing. Plotting someone's demise was another. And who even knew if it was possible? "We'll do what we've planned to do," he firmly stated. "Ethically and honestly." She nodded in quick agreement. "And if things get desperate, then we'll look at the…alternatives."

As Erik finally appeared, looking as menacing as ever, Gavin decided that it was better not to define those bloodier alternatives just yet.

Because Erik was the alternative.


	64. By Morning

I wanted to get this phic finished before school started, but I don't think that's going to happen. Unfortunately, the story is getting tense right as I get busy. I will try my best to keep updates coming at least once every two weeks. It's just a matter of finding time. Hope you enjoy the long chapter! And a huge thanks to _MadLizzy_ for all her help and suggestions.

**Read and Review!!!**

Leonie ran a hand through her blonde hair and fluffed it out to where the strands framed her narrow face. It was growing a bit longer than she usually wore it, but she thought the length took a few years off her age. Six bodyguards walked on all sides of her, the thuds of their heavy footsteps forming a rhythm with the light clicks of her high heels.

She watched Frederick exit the private jet and frowned as his young mistress came out behind him tugging a leather suitcase. Ignoring Emily, Leonie approached Frederick with a smile. She leaned in and kissed his wrinkled cheek as the bodyguards formed a protective circle around them. "Poor Freddie," she murmured. "You're looking a bit tired."

"I'd be fine if you left me alone," he retorted. They began to walk across the asphalt and toward a limousine, a light wind blowing against them. "Any news?"

"Not a word," she replied.

That wasn't entirely true. One of the bodies of her hit men had been found by accident, when a muddy lake was being drained for construction. She'd seen a picture of the corpse, and the head was nearly detached from the neck. Her monster was back. Still, she wasn't ready to tell Frederick. Having more knowledge than him was empowering.

"Well," he began. "I already have fifty men spread out around the city, and I can get more. I showed them the video recording we have of de Chagny and that other guy who was in the building. Have you found out who he is yet?"

"No," she bitterly replied. "We were certain that his credit card information would be at the hotel, but there was nothing in the computers. All we know is what he looks like."

"They're getting away with a good deal for a couple of boys." He clenched his jaw and climbed into the black vehicle. Emily grabbed his arm as he stumbled once and then scooted in beside him.

"We're certainly going to have to handle things differently this time," she replied. "Tell your men to keep watch but not to attack until they've contacted me." _Otherwise we'll end up with nothing but a pile of strangled bodies. _

"And we're just killing all of them?" Frederick asked. "You're not going to make it complicated, are you?" He took out a white handkerchief and wiped off his forehead.

"They'll be killed on sight. Except the girl. If she's discovered before the others are caught…well, she's far too useful to kill. Like a little queen bee."

"Does that mean you really think the creature is back?" he wearily asked.

"We'll see, Freddie. We'll see. If he is back, I'd like his head eventually mounted on my wall."

Emily shifted and paled. Frederick shook his head. "No games, Leonie. No complicating things for your sadistic pleasure. You know what? Sometimes I think you didn't kill him sixteen years ago just because you wanted him to suffer in prison. You got off on thoughts of it, and that's why we're in this mess. Well, it ends now."

"It ends," she sweetly agreed. "I'm tired, too. You don't think that I feel the aches and pains of my age? I wanted to pass the company on to de Chagny. That didn't work, but it's not my fault." She sighed. "It was very disappointing. I tried to get him a little girlfriend and everything." Frederick just grunted. She momentarily studied him, sensing something amiss. "Are you all right?"

"I'm old and tired," he replied. "I want to be left alone!"

"Stop upsetting him," said Emily, taking his hand. "The flight made his head hurt."

"You both are utterly pathetic," Leonie stated. "Fine. I'm taking this into my own hands." Taking out her cell phone, she called Darrel and left a message, instructing him to get back to her as soon as possible.

"What are you doing?" asked Frederick.

"I want all information reported to me. I want all sightings made known to me first. You may have the manpower, but I have the intellect and obviously the _stamina_ to do this right."

Frederick leaned back into the seat and closed his eyes. "Just get it over with, for God's sake."

"I will, love. I'll have them all in a pile at my feet when this is over."

* * *

Gavin could feel Erik watching him from some obscure corner of the room, maybe behind one of the other cubicles. He uneasily shifted in the leather chair, knowing full well that he was actually safer with Erik there. Still, he felt like hollering, _Why don't you just come sit beside me like a normal person?_ But that only would've gotten him a gravestone. 

They had snuck into an office complex with plenty of phones, computers, and about every other electronic device you could want. Gavin didn't want his cell phone traced and had avoided using it since being attacked at the inn. Even if all they got was his name, Marisol would automatically be put in danger. He'd been intoxicated with relief when Nadir told him that Erik had somehow pulled his information out of the hotel's records.

So far, Gavin had made six phone calls to potential witnesses and gotten no response; the lines were disconnected. Although reason told him that the residents had simply moved, more gruesome thoughts pervaded his mind. What if _Falcon_ had literally wiped everyone out?

He sighed and dialed another number; a woman answered in French. Gavin sat up straight and gripped the phone. "Good evening! Do you speak English?" he quickly asked, then chastised himself for sounding overeager.

She said something that he couldn't understand, and he took that as a _no_.

"One moment." He clenched his jaw; at least he had anticipated this. "Erik?" he softly asked, unsure of in which direction to look. "Can I have…some help?"

There was a pause. "What do you want?" he brusquely asked, continuing to stay concealed.

"Translating help."

"And you did not consider this _before_ you brought us here?"

"I did consider it," he replied with a swallow. "I thought you could help." Annoyed yellow eyes suddenly appeared on his left. Gavin leaned back into the chair, feeling his heart begin to pound. "I would have asked Nadir to come," he continued. "But…someone had to stay with Raoul and Christine, right?" Ignoring the continuous glare, Gavin pulled out a piece of notebook paper. "This is what I wanted to ask her. If it's the right woman, she was supposedly a nurse in southern France."

Erik grabbed the piece of paper and the receiver. He paused before talking, perhaps unused to speaking to many other human beings. Finally, perfect French came from behind the black mask, framed in a smooth tenor voice. He sounded calm at some points and more threatening at others. "What'd she say?" Gavin asked, once there was a pause in the conversation.

Erik stared down at him. "The woman is the person of interest. She did not wish to be involved in this matter. I informed her that all her crimes would be known to the world if she did not cooperate. I asked her where they buried the infants and hid the evidence. And now she is more cooperative."

Gavin cringed. "I hope she doesn't run away. We should be…more hospitable."

Erik coldly chuckled. "These _people_ will not help you unless threatened. They do not wish to be on the company's death list, and they will not risk their lives unless they are afraid of being exposed. Hospitality will get you nowhere." The woman must have returned because Erik began to speak into the phone again. After a moment, he swiftly wrote something down and hung up. "She agrees to be of assistance if she has protection. If she was lying, I informed her that we would soon find her."

Gavin rubbed his temples and turned around. The poor woman was probably jumping in her car and heading for the airport. Then again, would he have done any better by being nice? "All right. That's the best we've done so far. I'll keep going down the list."

He continued to run into many disconnected lines and a few people who had nothing to do with the case. It was exasperating. Gavin paused when he came to the next number. Feeling a dull pounding behind his eyes, he decided it would be the last one for tonight. On the odd chance that the call was successful, it was going to be the most stressful of all. He took a deep breath and dialed. A woman answered in French again. "Curtis Emerson?" he asked, not wanting to get Erik involved in this yet.

Gavin's heart jumped as a man then picked up the phone. "Mr. Emerson? Good evening! Do you speak English?"

"Yes," he replied with a thick accent, his voice cautious. "Fairly well."

"Great. Wonderful! How are you, Mr. Emerson?"

"I am fine. Who's this?"

"I'm calling about something that occurred around six years ago. An incident at a prison where you were employed as a guard. I'm a journalist, and…"

"I have told my story!" Mr. Emerson angrily replied. "That matter is long over! I will not discuss it anymore." There was a click as he hung up.

"No!" Gavin groaned. He dialed again.

The woman answered. "Leave my husband alone," she commanded. "We have already been questioned about that. It was years ago."

"Please," he began. She hung up before he could say anything else. Gavin turned and nearly jumped in his seat as Erik appeared beside him.

"Why are you calling _him_?" he angrily enquired.

Gavin shook his head. "He might know something. He said that he knew you were innocent, right? Maybe he knows the truth."

"And you thought he would speak to you?" Erik hissed. "He likely wakes up every morning and curses himself for his actions that night, for the deaths of dozens. He will not talk to you. Not unless threatened."

Gavin shrugged, feeling too tired to argue over any of the points. "Do you want to try? It might be our best chance to get this over with."

Erik paused for a long moment. "Anything that will end this as quickly as possible," he muttered. Taking the receiver, he dialed. "You will let me speak to your husband," Erik stated, obviously speaking to Mrs. Emerson. The woman started to protest again, but Erik interrupted, his voice nearly echoing within itself. It was an almost hypnotizing sound, hollow and eerily beautiful. "You _will_ let me speak to your husband. Tell him _Erik_ is here. Tell him Erik wishes to speak to him. You will do this now, Mrs. Emerson."

Gavin was glad he'd never heard Erik use that voice with Christine; otherwise, he might have questioned her state of mind. Within a second, he could hear Mr. Emerson's voice on the other side and leaned in closer to hear the conversation. "You," he sickly whispered. "What do you want?"

"Mr. Emerson," stated Erik, his voice back to its normal tone.

"What do you want?"

"If you do not assist the young man, everyone will know what you did that night. You released the monster. Many are dead because of you, Mr. Emerson."

"I was trying to end your suffering!" he miserably exclaimed. "You tricked me! I can't even look at myself in the mirror anymore because of you!"

"The past is as it is," Erik softly replied. "However much you regret it, you cannot take back your actions. And I cannot say that I am dismayed by that fact. If you wish to remain unharmed, though, you will speak to Mr. Lewis. I think you will find him much more amiable than myself." Erik handed the phone to Gavin and leaned against the wall with his arms crossed and his eyes distant.

"Mr. Emerson," Gavin began.

"I meant to put an innocent man out of his misery. Not unleash a monster. You have to believe that!" He sounded nearly frantic.

"I do believe that," Gavin gently replied. "But how did you know he was innocent? That's what's important."

"What?"

"We're trying to expose the people who put Erik behind bars sixteen years ago. We need your help to stop more injustices from happening. I don't mean you any harm."

"Then why are you with him? Aren't you aware of what he's done? How many he's killed?"

Gavin hesitated. "That's complicated, sir. It's too much to explain right now. Please. Just help me understand how you knew he was innocent."

"I ran across some letters to my boss. Someone forgot to shred them, I guess. Erik was locked in there because he was a threat to someone…because of his face. Some company was paying the authorities a lot of money to keep it covered up. I figured the least I could do was keep him comfortable until he died in there. But he refused to die."

"Do you have those letters?"

"I made photocopies," he replied. "I figured that if anyone did ever learn the truth, I should have some evidence of who was behind it. I didn't want to get in trouble over it."

Gavin sighed in relief. "I need those letters. The company needs to be brought down."

"I don't want to be involved."

"I'm sorry," said Gavin. "But we need you. You have to be involved."

"Are those threats?"

"They don't have to be. You'll be helping a lot of people. I promise that you'll be protected. We'll have the government involved. Nothing will happen to you or your family."

The conversation went back and forth like that for several minutes, with Curtis' worries and Gavin's reassurances. Gavin reluctantly gave away more of the back-story than he wanted to, but Mr. Emerson finally agree to help. "You promise you will tell no one of what happened that night?" he asked. "The world would hate me."

"I won't tell," Gavin replied. "And not everyone would hate you." After he hung up, he leaned back into the chair, exhausted and accomplished. It was all kind of poignant. Emerson had taken pity upon Erik, and Erik had shown Emerson mercy. And now Emerson-

"Are you finished, or do you plan to spend the night here?" Erik spoke directly into his ear.

Gavin shuddered and hopped up from his chair. "Yeah. That's good for tonight."

* * *

Christine greeted _him_ with a smile as he came down the stairs. The journey with Mr. Lewis had made him tense, and he felt the slow loosening of his muscles upon seeing her. 

"How'd it go?" she asked. Her voice was soothing.

"Better than expected," Mr. Lewis replied. "I'm going to try a few more calls tomorrow night and pull everything together. And then deliver it."

"That's great!" She wearily shook her head. "You don't know how glad I'll be when this is over. Thank you so much, Gavin." She squeezed her friend's shoulder, before walking over to embrace _him_. He wrapped his arms around her, letting her warmth seep into his icy body. The stresses of the night no longer mattered.

The door suddenly opened, and Nadir poked his head out of the room. "I'm glad you made it back safely," he stated.

From behind Mr. Khan, _he_ could see a blond head and pair of blue eyes attempting to look into the hallway. "Is he out there now? I have a right to meet him face to face!" exclaimed the wretched boy. "After what he did to me, I have that right."

Christine turned around. "Stop it, Raoul. Just let it go!"

"I had best leave," _he_ stated through gritted teeth. "You may come if you wish." He started to turn around before the idiot could see him.

"Wait," ordered Nadir. "Erik." _He_ sharply faced his old friend. "Mr. de Chagny has something he wishes to get off his mind. Perhaps we owe it to him after what we did. Why not let him say it?" Mr. Khan glanced at Christine. "You have nothing to lose, Erik."

He paused, his fingers curling slightly. "Are you sure that is very wise, Nadir?"

Christine stepped in front of him, forming a barrier as her eyes widened in panic. "I don't think that's a good idea. Raoul's just angry right now."

"I think he has the right to say what he needs to," Nadir replied. Mr. Khan stepped to the side of the doorway and allowed de Chagny to emerge. The boy looked between him and Christine, hands formed into fists. _He_ merely stared back, watching…waiting.

"What do you want to say?" Christine tiredly asked.

"I have a right to face him after what he did to me." De Chagny looked up at him, glaring with disgust. Still, he kept his distance. "You! You starved me, kept me prisoner for weeks, and nearly killed me. I survived. I'll get over it, and I'm sure people have been through worse." He glanced at Christine. "But it's just plain sick what you've done to her. You've played with her mind until she can't even think for herself anymore. You came after her when she was all alone in Boston. You've violated her in the most horrible ways that I can think of!"

At that last statement, _he_ nearly lunged forward and grabbed the boy by the neck. _He had never touched her! The lying, wretched, vile, little…_

Christine spoke. "You don't know what you're talking about. I came here because I wanted to! And Erik hasn't done anything to me! Where did you hear that?"

"Have you forgotten what he did to us less than a year ago?" de Chagny asked in disbelief. The boy looked at up him again. "I don't trust you with her life! I'm surprised she is still alive! Somehow you've terrorized her into thinking she actually loves you."

"Did I truly?" _he_ icily whispered, nearly mocking him. He refused to give any proof to the contrary. All he wanted to do was permanently silence the idiot. Christine took his hand and entwined their fingers together, and the sensation kept him sane.

"Raoul," she calmly began. "You don't know everything. All you know is what happened at the house last spring. And I know it was terrible! I know you were hurt, and I'm sorry. But there's so much more to it than that. Why do you think Gavin is helping? Do you think that Gavin would be involved if it were all bad?"

"No," de Chagny replied, glancing at a very alarmed Mr. Lewis. "I know that Leonie is a criminal. That's why I'm helping. But that…" He pointed at their entwined hands. "That's not right, Christine." The boy stared him straight in the eye. "If you truly cared a damn thing about her, you would stay away from her!"

Several tense seconds of pure silence ticked by.

"It seems you are finished now." He planted the softly-spoken words right next to de Chagny's ear, causing the boy to flinch and step backward. Keeping Christine's hand firmly in his own, he turned and began to walk in the opposite direction. To his relief, Christine fell into step beside him.

De Chagny called after her, pled with her to be reasonable, but she didn't turn around. A sigh escaped her lips as they walked up the stairs. "He's never going to understand. He'll never get over what happened a year ago." With each step higher, his anger dissipated. "I'm sorry he said those things," she murmured. "If it had been up to me, he wouldn't have gotten the chance. But Nadir thought--"

"Do you believe his words?"

"Of course not!"

"Then I do not care what he says. You are with me. And not with him. And I do not care if he condemns me to hell." He pulled her closer, and she looked up at him. Her hands came around to the back of his head and touched the transparent strings; he had inadvertently given her the power to decide when the mask came off. The cool air touched his face, and he felt the simultaneous fear and liberation that always came when his cover was taken from him.

She kissed him, and the familiar warm tingle traveled through his cold veins. Even though she had done so many times by then, he still ached for her affections. He prayed she would never grow tired of his distorted mouth or death's hands or frigid skin. He would die if she ever stopped touching him.

"I briefly spoke to Emerson," he continued, once she had pulled away. Christine looked up in surprise, her arms still wound around his neck. "He thought I was horrid." She started to protest. "It does not matter, Christine. It does not matter how horrid I am. You still love me. I am the ugliest, most detestable thing on earth. My poor mother could not stand to be near me! And Nadir pitied me just enough to keep me alive. And Emerson pitied me enough to kill me. But no one ever loved me before…Oh. Do not cry. What is wrong?"

"Nothing," she choked out, hugging him close to her. A tear fell down her cheek and to the corner of her lip. "You just say such horrible things sometimes…" And then she kissed him several times and told him that she loved him. He believed her. She asked him to promise that, no matter what happened, he would always return to her. He gave her his word. Still leaning back against him, she finally calmed down and turned to look out the window and at the city.

There was a large movie theater in the distance, the signs lit up in yellow and orange lights against the night sky. She remarked that she had not seen a movie in many months. He hadn't seen one in over sixteen years, not since India. The last one was an American-made film about a pathetic monster that befriended some children. After he described it in vague detail, Christine informed him that it wasn't a monster. Apparently, the ugly little creature was an alien. She then casually stated that they should see a movie together when this was all over. There were 'some interesting ones coming out this summer.'

And how could he do anything else but love her even more?

* * *

A thick tension hung in the air throughout the next day, the threat of discovery and death constantly looming. Gavin began to type non-stop, only breaking when his eyes refused to stay open. When Christine came in and asked him if there was anything he needed, he gave a one-word response: "Coffee." Within an hour, there was a twenty ounce paper cup of caffeine sitting beside him, but Gavin never remembered how it got there. 

Christine remained with Erik and Nadir for most of the day, and Raoul became quiet and resigned. Whenever Gavin needed some help or wanted someone to read a paragraph over, though, he was willing to help. Every so often, Raoul would cast a troubled glance toward the door. He would sometimes look at the ground, rub his eyes, and shake his head…as though he were trying to wake up from an ongoing nightmare.

Gavin said nothing. His job was getting the story done so that they could get out alive. They could deal with the love triangle on their own darn time.

He went out again that night with Erik to make a few more phone calls. He'd managed to finally find a guy that was a party to one of the earlier lawsuits. The older man was now living in Virginia. Once he understood Gavin's intentions, he agreed to be of help if protected. Gavin heard a constant note of fear in the man's voice. He also got hold of an employee who was supposed to testify in court several years ago. As always, _Falcon_ had found a way out of the trial.

After that, Gavin figured he had enough to stop his search. With every day that passed, they were in more danger. If the authorities needed more witnesses, they were going to have to give him and his friends some bodyguards. He continued to write, including all details except those that mentioned Erik and Nadir after prison. He told of the pollution in several different countries and the abhorrent working conditions. As far as mass murder, he stated that he could be a witness to an attack on his own life; he was also sure that many more cases would pop up once the investigations began.

Erik was portrayed as a man who was tortured to death years ago. The authorities would have to debate whether the famed masked killer was real or one of _Falcon's_ distractions; Gavin hoped they decided the latter.

The document was long, and, without proper editing, it wasn't perfect. Still, he felt somewhat proud of his work by the end. Gavin saved it on several disks and planned to find a place where he could print it. "Done," he murmured, leaning back against the wall. Nadir and Raoul were the only ones with him.

"What are you going to do with it all?" asked Nadir. "Who are you going to give it to?"

"We're distributing it to some of the media. Definitely the _BBC_. I'm going to tell the authorities some of what I have. And then I want personal protection for us and the witnesses before I tell them any more."

"The police may be corrupted," said Mr. Khan with a sigh. "Some of their activity is suspicious."

Gavin nodded. "That's why I'm also contacting the Secret Intelligent Service. Normally, they're into terrorism. But if _Falcon _isn't an international threat, then I don't know what is. And if they're corrupted…then there's nothing we can do except hope the media picks it up."

"Do not ask protection for Erik and me. It would be too much to ask. And I do not trust them with Erik."

Gavin gave him a sympathetic glance. "You and Erik…can stay safe?"

Nadir smiled slightly. "We have so far. We'll make do."

Raoul spoke, his tone resigned. "How long do you think it'll take for them to help us?"

"I don't know."

"What if it doesn't work?"

Gavin hesitated. He'd been wondering that himself. "Then we run like hell and hope we can get out with our lives."

After he had gathered everything together, he and Erik prepared to go out once again, hopefully for the last time. Gavin watched the couple say goodbye to one another and felt momentarily hopeful for all of them. "We might not be back for awhile. So don't get worried."

"We'll be fine," said Nadir. "We'll head for the tunnels if anything happens."

As he and Erik began walking toward the stairs, Gavin faintly heard Raoul ask Christine if she wanted half a chocolate bar. Erik sharply turned his head for a moment, perhaps alarmed by the change in attitude; their conflict had helped keep him at ease. Gavin continued up, and Erik straightened his shoulders and followed behind. Once they were outside, the masked man soon found a place in the shadows and out of Gavin's view.

They walked through the damp alleys and streets, and Gavin tried to avoid stepping on broken bottles and stray nails. The night was warmer than it had been and humid. A few other people wandered the sidewalks but seemed disinterested in their surroundings. Gavin kept his head low and his possessions closely at his side. He considered putting the hood of his jacket up but thought that might make him look suspicious.

He turned a corner and stumbled over a crack in the cement. As he caught his balance, a soft _whoosh_ sounded out from directly behind him. Gavin sharply turned and stared at an unfamiliar man with a short brown beard, torn jeans, and grey jacket. The guy was currently grabbing at his neck, his hazel eyes wide with terror as his face turned purple. "Stop!" Gavin whispered, as he took the entire sight in. "Don't kill him!"

Erik waited until the man was unconscious before letting him fall to the ground. He then came out of the shadows and stared down with disdain, still gripping the end of the lasso. "He was approaching you from closely behind. Too closely." Erik bent down and began to dig through the pockets of the unconscious man. A driver's license and some money were on the inside of the coat. There were no weapons or communication devices.

Gavin stared. "I think he was just walking by. Maybe he's homeless."

"He was still coming upon you quickly. He did not mean to go around you."

"But he doesn't even have a gun. I…let's just leave him here." Gavin's heart was pounding. "Don't…don't kill him. She wouldn't have wanted it." The last sentence almost made him feel guilty, as though he were attacking Erik's weakest point.

Erik stared at the unconscious man, shoulders tense. He glanced around them, eyes conflicted. "Perhaps it was just a petty thief," he stated. "You are alone and well-dressed…an ideal target. Or perhaps he was intoxicated and disoriented. Let us go."

Gavin breathed a sigh of relief and tucked his materials beneath his arm. He moved forward, and Erik disappeared again. For a second, he thought he felt someone watching him. Someone that wasn't Erik. He studied the higher windows of some of the buildings but saw only square patches of darkness.

"Do not just stand there," Erik hissed into his ear. "Move!"

Gavin nodded and trudge forward.

* * *

Leonie was startled from a comfortable sleep when her phone rang. Reaching out a slender arm, she answered it, her voice still groggy. A grin slowly spread across her face as one of Frederick's men nervously spoke. Her mind and body were awoken with pure exhilaration. "Marvelous," she finally murmured. "I can't believe he's still alive. How funny." She stood up and cracked opened her blinds, staring out at her city…her empire...her world. "Now follow my directions carefully. This should be over by morning." 


	65. Descending

Here we go, guys. I'd recommend not reading this in a place of high stress. As always, thank you for your kind comments.

A big thanks to _MadLizzy_ for her help in making all this madness as real as possible.

**Read and Review!!!**

The beauty of the whole thing was not that Leonie knew where the creature was; it was in knowing where he wasn't.

Two of Frederick's men had been watching, one from the upper windows of a nearby building and another following on the ground. They had been confused as to why the young man was walking alone and unarmed if he was indeed one of their targets. But, of course, he hadn't been alone. They'd realized that after one of them had nearly been strangled to death. Fortunately, the man on the ground had been dressed to look like a vagrant. At least Freddie's men weren't complete idiots.

After the uninjured man told her what street they were on, Leonie pulled two maps out of a drawer. Months ago, she had familiarized herself with London's underground system, both the tunnels that were in use and those that were abandoned. She studied the streets now and traced them back to where the boy had first been spotted. Then, she followed the tunnels with her index finger in the same direction. Assuming that the monster hadn't gone insane and killed off all the members of his little troupe, he was too intelligent to leave them in a place of no escape. Leonie smiled as everything began to come together, before speaking to Frederick's man in a calm voice.

"Do not go after them," she carefully instructed. "Not yet. It will alert the demon to the fact that we are watching. And then he will return to where I do not want him. Let them think that all is well."

"But maybe he'll lead us back to the others," he protested.

"He will murder you before you even get there," she replied, admiring her manicured nails. "And then the monster will move them all to a different location, maybe even out of the city, and we'll be back at square one. Besides, I think I already know where the others may be. Now do as I tell you and wait. If you disobey me, even if he doesn't kill you, I will."

"Yes, Ms. Neumanns."

Leonie made two phone calls within the next fifteen minutes, her voice sticky sweet with delight. Her first call was to Darrel. She leaned back into a cushy armchair and attempted to remain composed; the adventure was making her a bit giddy. "I need you to do me a favor," she stated. "A special job. You're going to go through the tunnels and get that girl for me. The others—I'm guessing de Chagny could be there-- may be dead by that point, depending on how alert they are. If not, though, kill them. It shouldn't be difficult; I doubt de Chagny will fight back. But make sure the girl is alive."

"What if the girl is already dead?" he asked, voice hoarse from sleep.

"No," Leonie murmured. "No. The girl is what holds them together. I'd bet my entire fortune that she's quite alive."

"What about the monster?"

"He shouldn't be there now. I'm monitoring that situation. If we're extremely lucky, we'll eradicate everyone by morning and Christine will be disposable. But I've learned not to underestimate our favorite monster, and the girl may still be of use for several days. Now listen carefully. I'm going to give you instructions." She smiled. "If you do this for me, dearie, I'll give you Raoul's old position. I'll give you the company. Isn't that nice?"

Darrel cooperated.

Her last call had been to one of Frederick's lead men, instructing him to wait for orders. She was going to attempt to kill the unknown boy before the night was over, perhaps after enough time had passed for the other half of the plan to occur. The task would have to be done from a distance and quickly so that the monster could not interfere. Once the young man was dead, the creature would go racing back to the tunnels.

And what a surprise he would find there!

If all went as she expected, only the creature and the girl would still be alive at sunrise. And then it would only be a matter of baiting him properly. Leonie put a celebratory bottle of champagne in a bucket of ice for later.

* * *

Christine sat against the wall with her knees bent upward, nibbling on a piece of dark chocolate. As always, her stomach was tight with nerves, and she nearly had to force the food down. She hated it when Erik left. She, Raoul, and Nadir could wait down there for weeks, not knowing whether Erik and Gavin were dead or alive. There were times when she cursed her stupid plan to come back to London, until she remembered that the other choice had been to spend their lives hiding. 

Raoul silently sat nearby, his eyes ringed with exhaustion and his hair falling into his face. "What are you going to do when this is over?" he softly asked, not looking at her. "Where are you going to go?"

"I don't know," she replied. "Maybe back to the United States. Back to school."

"With him?"

"Yes." Raoul sighed and rubbed his head, but Christine continued speaking before he could argue. At least he was calm now. "You know the prisoner that Gavin told you about? The one that was tortured to death?"

"Yeah."

"Well, there was a prisoner, and he was tortured. He just didn't die."

Raoul glanced up at her, clarity coming into his eyes. He shook his head. "I'm sorry that things turned out the way they did. I'm sorry that my father was involved in this and that you got drawn into the mess. And I'm sorry that people suffered. It never should have happened. But that still doesn't make what he's done okay. There're courts and…"

"He tried to sue the company," she interrupted. "Erik tried. And he was framed for murder. Just like you almost were."

"So you think that everything he's done is completely justified?"

"No," she replied, continuing to look him in the eye. "I don't think that. But I see a side of him that most people don't. A kindness. He's the most intelligent person I've ever met, maybe a genius. I think he needs a chance to actually live without someone coming after him or hurting him. He's never had that, Raoul. If he'd had a normal life, he might have been famous. The world might have loved him."

"But what if he's just too insane? Even if he's not evil, what if…what if he can't be helped? If not prison, maybe he needs to be in an institution."

"I'm giving him a chance. I believe in him, and I love him. You can try to have him arrested or committed, I guess." She glared. "If you want to hurt me…"

Raoul threw his hands up into the air. "I don't want to hurt you, Christine! I've never wanted that! I'm trying to stop you from being hurt!"

"Then don't--"

"Hush!" They both looked up to see Nadir poking his head into the room, his dark eyes disturbed. "Be silent for a moment," he tensely commanded, before disappearing again.

She swallowed and stood, feeling goose bumps dot her arms. Raoul also got up, and they exchanged nervous glances. Her friend jogged to the door and looked into the hallway. Christine stared over his shoulder as an eerie quiet settled around them. The sound of pounding footsteps coming down the stairs caused them both to jump backwards.

Her heart calmed when she saw that it was Nadir, but Christine shuddered when she saw his grim expression. Mr. Khan raced into the room and shut the door, before turning to them with wide eyes. "There are several men about to enter the building, and I think they mean us harm. We must leave. Get only what you can easily carry."

She grabbed her purse, hoping her cell phone and wallet were inside. Her next instinct was to find the violin, but she didn't see the black case. Maybe Erik had stowed it somewhere safe. Nadir picked up two of the pistols from their small pile of firearms.

"Can you use one?" he asked, holding the gun out to Raoul.

Raoul swallowed and carefully took it, running his fingers over the metal. He put on a brave face, like a young man about to leave for war. "Yeah. You weren't a de Chagny if you didn't know how to use a gun." He made sure that it was fully loaded and checked the safety.

"Excellent," wearily replied Mr. Khan, performing the same actions with his pistol. "Hopefully you will not need it. Now let us go." He opened the side door, and they walked into a very short hallway that smelled of dust and grime. Nadir opened another door, its hinges rusted, and Christine found herself in a tunnel. Complete darkness surrounded her, and she touched someone's shoulder for guidance, unsure of whether it was Nadir's or Raoul's. "There are some lights up ahead," Nadir explained, clicking on a flashlight. "Just walk quickly but carefully." He turned and twisted something, causing the door to click. "Erik attempted to fix the lock; let us hope that it holds."

They made their way through the cold tunnels, and she found herself occasionally tripping over holes in the aging pavement. There were short, steep ridges on each side of the main path, and she was careful not to fall over the edges. "What about Erik?" she whispered, shivering. "How will he know where we've gone?"

"He knows that we'll go this way," replied Nadir. "Do you have Mr. Lewis' number?"

"Yes. But my phone doesn't work. Definitely not down here."

"We will find a way," he reassured her. "As long as we are safe."

She silently prayed that Gavin and Erik were protected, wherever they were. For a few moments, their footsteps and breaths were the only sounds. A soft roar could be heard from above, along with the occasional creak and groan of the aging structure. Every so often, Christine felt a soft breeze against her face, as though the wind had managed to seep through the cracks. Dim lights shone from up ahead.

"We will turn a corner soon," began Nadir. "After that, we will have several directions to choose from. I--"

"Oh!" Christine gasped in surprise as she ran into the back of someone; she steadied herself to keep from falling. Nadir had stopped moving forward and was shining the flashlight straight ahead, frozen. There was just enough light to make out everyone's form.

"What's wrong?" asked Raoul, looking up at Mr. Khan.

Christine yelped as she was suddenly shoved to the side. She tripped down the ridge and slammed into the curved walls of the tunnel. "Both of you stay down!" Nadir hissed. Once she had recovered from the fall, she obediently crouched, her heart pounding. All she could see through her blurred vision was Nadir raising his gun; Raoul was no longer visible.

Nadir had dropped the flashlight. Shadows swam around them as she tried to make sense of what was happening; she felt as though she were still falling. Finally, she understood that two unfamiliar men had appeared from behind the corner, their faces distorted and monstrous in the blinding flashes of light. Sharp clicks and loud crashes echoed around her, adding to her disorientation.

Unable to move from her spot in the shadows, she watched as a man she didn't recognize fell face-first several yards away, glistening blood dripping from his face. His body hit the pavement with a thud. _Nadir had shot him!_ When she looked back up, her mouth fell open in horror. Mr. Khan was hunched on the ground clutching his side, a red stain forming on the front of his white shirt. Another man with a brown ponytail was standing over him, about to shoot Nadir in the back of the head.

"No!" she screamed, jumping up. Her voice reverberated off the walls. "Stop! Don't!"

The man started and looked up, nearly pointing the gun at her. Then, he smiled. "Ms. Daae. Leonie thought you'd be here. You're going to come with me right after this."

"Don't! Don't hurt him! I'll go with you. Don't…."

"Orders," he replied. "And you'll come with me, even if I have to shoot you in the kneecaps."

She clutched the sides of her head as a shot was fired. The man in the pony tail gaped and stumbled sideways. Another shot echoed through the tunnels. Christine screamed. The man finally fell over, his eyes and mouth still open as he hit the ground. A pool of blood formed upon the floor from behind his head and back.

Raoul was kneeling feet away on the opposite edge of the path, both hands trembling with the pistol. He slowly stood and stared down at the man he had shot two times, blinking in disbelief. "That was Darrel," he muttered, his chest heaving. "That was Darrel. The bastard worked for Leonie."

A soft cry of relief escaped her lips, and she finally tore her eyes away from the body. Christine crouched down beside Nadir, who was still clutching his stomach with a grimace of pain. The ground was hard and frigid beneath her knees. "Oh," she whispered, trying to catch her breath. "Nadir. We need to get you help. We need to go."

Nadir removed his hand from his torso and looked at his reddened fingers. "They knew…" he murmured in shock. "They knew we would come this way. They were waiting. You must go before more come…"

She rapidly shook her head, a sharp pang forming in the center of her chest. "Raoul and I can carry you. We'll find help. We'll go up and find a hospital…."

"You need to run," he whispered, slouching further to the ground. "It's too late now. It wouldn't matter."

"No!" she exclaimed, tears trickling down her cheeks. "No…." She desperately looked at her childhood friend. "Help me, Raoul. We'll carry him." Raoul reached out a trembling hand and tried to take one of Nadir's arms. He stopped when Nadir spoke.

"No, young man. No. You must get her out of here." Nadir looked up at her. "Listen. Please listen. If you make it, if you see him again, tell him I'm sorry that I could never quite…No. Apologies are no good anymore, are they?" He paused as his voice grew weaker. His eyes closed and opened. "Just tell him that I did care. Please tell him that for me. That I cared about him." She couldn't even speak anymore, only nod and take his hand. "It is all right. It is all right," he murmured. "I know you will take care of him. I know that now. It is all right."

"I will," she finally managed to whisper. "No. Nadir…"

The vaguest smile formed on his lips. He murmured something that she couldn't understand, perhaps in another language, perhaps the name of his wife. His eyes closed, and his hand went limp.

Christine buried her face in her hands as tears streamed down her face and dry, choked sobs escaped her throat. The air had left her lungs, only to be replaced with a crushing pain. And yet the feeling was not new to her. Not at all, really. And just like when her father had passed on, Raoul was there to bring her back to reality.

"Christine," her friend whispered, pulling her into a hug. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." She turned and cried into the front of Raoul's shirt. _They'd never had a chance…_."Christine," he continued. "We need to go. I hear them. I think they're trying to get through the door." She shook her head, unable to process his words. Her friend grabbed her by the shoulders and looked into her eyes. "We have to go. They'll kill us. We have to try. We have to. I'm so sorry. But we have to go!"

She nodded, some distant part of her mind telling her that all was not yet lost. She looked at Nadir one last time, silently telling him thank you and goodbye. Raoul pulled her up from the ground, and they stood together. "Erik will see Nadir like this," she whispered. In the distance, there was a crashing noise and voices.

Raoul took her wrist, pulling her forward while still clutching the pistol with his other hand.

And they ran.

* * *

Gavin considered the quickest ways to get his story to the authorities and the public. He could mail it to everyone in a giant, brown envelope, but there was always the chance of the package being intercepted. He finally decided to send an electronic message to the Secret Intelligent Service with at least half of what he had and then notify them by telephone. Arranging a meeting sounded better than having men in black appear out of nowhere and toss him into their van. He would still mail the story to the police and media anonymously. 

He continued to look over his shoulder as he and Erik headed to another closed office to avoid being seen. They would have to quickly get out of there afterwards, before the call was traced and they were found. After Erik had manipulated the lock open, Gavin saw him stare outside for a moment, searching the area. He then closed the door and locked it from the inside, and Gavin could see suspicion in the yellow eyes. Unrest hovered in the air.

Gavin found a work station and printed out two copies of his story, before placing them into ready-made envelopes addressed to the police department and the _BB_C. After sliding his disk into one of the office's computers, he readied a brief e-mail with his story attached. Before pushing 'send,' he picked up the office phone and called a hotline. Gavin nervously waited through several rings.

"Hi," he began when someone answered in a no-nonsense voice. "I'm calling due to a threat upon lives and property. There is a massive criminal organization out there in the disguise of a legitimate corporation known as _Falcon_." Gavin went on to describe a variety of their crimes, both from the present and the past, going so far as to make them practically sound like terrorists just to get someone's attention. "I've sent you half of the evidence by e-mail, along with how to contact me by phone. I want protection before I say any more. You can call me if you want to arrange a meeting." He hung up the phone and sent the message. "Let's go before they can get here."

After gathering up his belongings, Gavin rushed for the exit. He would have dove out the door if Erik hadn't practically yelled in his ear. "Stop!" Gavin flinched and froze in his steps. "You are being watched from above."

Gavin's heart jumped. He squinted upwards and saw the vague outline of someone beside a half-open window. "What should I do?"

"We will try another exit," Erik grimly replied. "It seems they know that I am with you."

He headed for a side door, thankful for the beckoning glow of the exit signs. Erik glanced out, eyes narrowed. "Go," he ordered, his voice tense. "Stay to the side. Keep to the shadows."

Gavin obeyed and walked forward, keeping his computer and envelopes up against his chest with the hope that a bullet would bounce off of them. Every time he saw movement out of the corner of his eye, he flinched and ducked.

There was suddenly another horrible swooping sound behind him, and he turned to see Erik holding a man up against the wall, the lasso firmly in place around his neck. The man struggled and gagged as the noose tightened, his flesh turning grey-blue. Gavin gaped as Erik bent down to face his victim. "How have you located our whereabouts?" Erik questioned. The man silently attempted to wriggle away. Erik grabbed his hand and bent the right index finger back until the bone snapped. The man howled. "How have you found us?" Erik calmly repeated.

"I don't know," he choked out, continuing to pant in pain as Erik threatened to break another finger. "The boss knew. That's all I know. Just orders to come here."

"And why aren't you attempting to shoot yet? Why are you standing around and staring at us like idiots? You think I cannot see you?"

"We have to wait for the command."

"And when does the command come, my friend?" Erik bent the middle finger back.

"I don't know…"

The middle finger was snapped. The man screamed. "_When does the command come? After what?_"

"I don't know!" he yelped. "I swear! No one ever told me the exact plan!"

"I don't think he knows," Gavin whispered, nearly ready to vomit.

Erik studied the man, looking into his eyes. And then he pulled the noose taught and let the body slide down the wall. Gavin felt his stomach flip and turned away from the sight. Erik spoke, unusual apprehension in his voice "We are being ambushed. They know far too much, and the city is no longer secure in the slightest."

"What do we do?"

"We are taking a safer route through the tunnels. And then I am taking her and leaving the city. You may do as you wish." Gavin wearily nodded, too tired to argue, and continued to follow Erik's instructions, knowing that a wrong move might end his life. When he passed a postbox, he discretely slid his envelopes inside and then dodged back into the alleys. He took several shortcuts through buildings, which ensured that a sniper couldn't target him from one of the higher windows. He never knew if Erik was forced to kill any more men that night; he didn't really want to know.

As they walked on and the streets became quiet, Gavin began to believe that Erik had gotten them out of that hellish situation. No one jumped out from behind corners to kill him, and he no longer had the feeling of being watched. One part of Gavin was horrified by Erik, and then the other half of him nearly wanted to give the masked man a hug and a handshake. And so he did nothing. "What a nightmare," Gavin murmured as they descended a set of concrete steps and entered the tunnels.

"They are more prepared than I expected," said Erik. "The air is full of death. And I will not keep her in this city any longer."

It was only after they had been walking for awhile that a general feeling of concern came over Gavin, a rawness in his chest and stomach. His footsteps echoed hollowly. A chill traveled through his body, and he swallowed back a lump of fear. He could feel the death in the air as well, it seemed.

Closer and closer they walked. A small patch of light up ahead marked the door of their destination. _But why was it opened?_ Sensing something near his feet, Gavin looked down. And then he saw the bodies. Two had their faces turned away, but he didn't think he recognized the men. And then…no.

No. Oh God…no.

Gavin couldn't even say anything as Erik came up beside him. He stood there staring at the pallid face of the older man he had only recently come to know and yet thought of as a friend. Erik knelt beside Mr. Khan, his head bent, not even bothering to check for a pulse. He remained motionless in that position. Gavin closed his eyes and then dared to look down a nearby passage. He was afraid that he would see Christine and Raoul lying there up ahead, dead. But they weren't. And he was grateful. And yet horrified by the fact that he didn't know where they were.

Taking a deep breath, Gavin turned back around to see that Erik had disappeared. Nausea overtook him. Was he alone now? Left to fend for himself? He rubbed his hands over his face, desperately trying to think of what to do next…where to go…where to hide…

"I will find her." Gavin turned around. Erik was standing directly behind him, looking off into the tunnels. His voice was strangely soft. "The room was empty. They were invaded from all directions, it seems. But I will find her."

"Maybe they made it out," Gavin replied, once he had found his voice. "Maybe she's safe."

Erik didn't seem to hear him; the yellow eyes were distant. His white fingers wiggled like spider legs, but the rest of his body was very still. "I will leave you at a place where you can hide. She would want that. If you die, she will be very upset. But you will arm yourself." He held out the revolver; Gavin had no choice but to take it, even if he didn't know what the hell to do with it. "And then you will be alone." Erik glanced at his fallen friend for a long moment. "I will find a way to properly bury him. I must."

Gavin hesitated. "Do you want me to help?"

"No."

Dazed, Gavin didn't remember the walk out of the tunnels or into the streets. Erik must have been stable enough to keep watch, though, for they survived the journey.

Or maybe _Falcon_ had what it wanted now. Gavin shuddered.

"Are you religious, Mr. Lewis?"

The question caught him off guard. He found himself looking at a medium-sized red brick church with arched windows and a pyramidal white steeple. "No," Gavin softly replied. "Not really."

"Nor am I," Erik murmured. "And this is the last place I would ever search for my enemy, you see. And there are many places to hide within, if you want to live. And it is not such a bad place to die, boy. Not at all." Erik led him to the front entrance. "You may go elsewhere if you prefer. But Erik is leaving now. To join his bride, whether she be dead or living."

"She won't be dead." Gavin had to believe that or he was going to inwardly collapse.

Erik said nothing in reply; maybe he hadn't even heard. His mind was now focused on a single goal. And anyone who attempted to get in his way would die, including the remaining members of _Falcon_. One way or another, this was going to end soon.

After Gavin opened the heavy wooden doors and stepped inside, Erik disappeared without a word. He found the rows of pews and sat in one, numbly waiting for the sounds of footsteps as someone came to kill him. Surely someone must have seen him go in there.

But seconds turned into minutes, and no one came. Gavin turned on his phone and lay down on the cushioned bench, staring at the ceiling, inhaling and exhaling…waiting…


	66. Trust Me

Thank you for all the kind reviews. Yes, it was a sad chapter and a little difficult to write. I will try hard to keep my promise of updating at least every two weeks. As a final warning, the chapters following this one could get a little gruesome. I'd estimate between 4 and 6 chapters left after this one. Thanks again to _MadLizzy_ for all her help.

I'm taking a business ethics course this semester. Do you think Leonie would pass it?

**Read and Review!!!**

From the moment he grabbed Christine's wrist, Raoul had no idea where he was going. He blindly raced forward through the tunnels, following whatever path appeared to be the most well-lit and the least decayed. He kept a tight grip on Christine's arm and a strong hold on the semiautomatic; losing either would be catastrophic. They'd run for what seemed like hours, unsure of whether they were being followed. A cramp began to form in his side, and he could hear her breathing harshly beside him.

She softly cried out as they sharply turned a corner. Raoul slowed down and faced her. "What's wrong?"

It took her several seconds to catch her breath and speak. He could see tear streaks run from her puffy eyes and down her dust-covered cheeks. "I came down too hard on my foot," she murmured. "I'm okay. Just tired." Her face scrunched up with pain as they began moving again. He offered her his arm to lean on for support, and she took it.

Thinking he heard footsteps behind them, Raoul began to walk quickly as Christine limped and avoided putting weight on her left foot. "We'll try to find somewhere to rest. We'll get out of here."

He desperately searched for some sign that they were nearing the end of the hellish maze; he was sick of the endless darkness. Hearing Christine stumble beside him, Raoul grabbed her shoulders to keep her from falling, watching as her face paled with pain and fatigue. "Nadir is dead," she whispered with a deep inhalation of breath, as though realizing it for a second time. "And Erik is gone."

Raoul glanced behind them and saw nothing. All was quiet, save for the occasional creak and groan of the massive structure. "We'll take a short break," he stated, fearing for Christine's health. "I think we got away for now." He gently put an arm around her as she hobbled to the side. They sat down together and leaned against the brick wall.

Christine stared at the floor. "We need to get to Erik and Gavin," she dully murmured. "We have to find them."

Raoul hesitated, inwardly cringing whenever she mentioned that madman's name. "We don't have any idea where they are. We don't even know if they're--" He stopped speaking as she glanced up. The grief shimmered in her eyes. "I'm sorry, Christine," he murmured. "I don't know what the heck to do. I don't know where we are."

"I know. I don't either. Maybe they'll find us, though."

"Maybe. But we can't stay here forever." They sat in silence for a moment, catching their breaths. He stared down at the gun, clearly able to remember one thing about the entire incident. "I killed someone."

"If you hadn't, we both would've ended up dead." She shakily sighed. "Poor Nadir…I don't even want to imagine what must be going through Erik's head. I wish there was something we could have done."

"I know. I'm sorry. It all happened really fast."

Raoul briefly considered the situation, recalling the feeling as he pulled the trigger and the sound of the gunshots. He could lie to himself and say that he regretted taking a man's life. But there was nothing good about Darrel. And he was threatening to hurt Christine. It'd been a matter of self-defense and was completely justifiable.

"We should walk on a ways," he declared, beginning to feel restless. "We can't stay here. The dust is terrible, and we need water…" He glanced down at her foot with concern. "You might even need a doctor."

Christine hesitated. "We should stay in one place so that Erik can find us."

A part of him honestly wanted to get her out of there and take her to another country, where Erik couldn't touch her. Still, Raoul wasn't ready to make any final decisions. And he also knew that Gavin didn't deserve abandonment. Thirst and exhaustion clouded his thought process. "Let's just walk a ways."

"But Erik--"

Raoul clenched his jaw. "What if he doesn't come, Christine? Are we just going to stay down here until we die?" He placed his head into his hands and sighed.

She folded her arms against her chest for warmth and looked to the side. "Maybe we should try to find a phone," she softly replied. "Maybe we're too far to be found now. Erik told me to go in a certain direction if we had to run, and I was too dazed to even remember. We could try calling Gavin and make sure that they're okay."

Her response relieved him. "How's your foot?" he asked as he helped her up again.

"It still aches. But I'll make it. I'm okay." She weakly grinned as they slowly continued in the same direction. "Remember when we crawled under your dad's office desk and pretended we were in a cave? And then you knocked his papers off the top. And the dog ate one of them."

"Yeah. I was grounded for that. And it was your idea."

Her smile faded. "I guess I've caused you nothing but grief since we were kids."

"Yeah," he murmured, his heart growing heavy. "But we had fun. I don't regret any of it." They silently walked on for awhile. Raoul glanced to the side and blinked, suddenly feeling reenergized. "Look! Stairs. Maybe it's an exit out of here. I'll go and check."

"Be careful!" she called to him as he raced upward. He cautiously slowed down and looked out over the top. Seeing a door with a lock on his side, he unlocked the deadbolt and opened it. The room looked like it had been recently used by maintenance workers. Empty soda cans and brown paper sacks were strewn across a table, and the area had been cleaned. He swallowed. What if they were no longer in the _abandoned _tunnels?

Raoul unlocked another door on the other side of the room. When he opened it, he found himself staring outside. The breeze felt wonderful, and the scent of rain hung in the air. The streets were lit with lamps, and only a few disheveled people were wandering around the sidewalks. In the distance, he thought he saw a station entrance, which further confirmed his beliefs. Raoul turned around and ran back through the room and down the stairs. Christine was leaning against a wall. "It's a way out!" he exclaimed. "And I think we need to get out of here in case these tunnels are still in use. The trains don't run between one and five in the morning."

Her eyes widened. "They're not abandoned? We really took a wrong turn! Did you see a phone?"

"No. But there's a bus stop. We should get far away from this area."

"What if someone recognizes us?"

Raoul shook his head. "If Leonie is trying to kill me and kidnap you, they're not going to announce it on the news. No one will remember from before. Just don't let the driver see you."

She nodded and nervously looked both ways. "Well, let's get out of here at least. We can call Erik and Gavin."

He put an arm around her waist and helped her hobble up the steps. She was likely oblivious to the fact that he was enjoying having her in his arms again. Raoul winced as she murmured something else about what Erik must be thinking right now.

That psychopath wasn't worthy of her! She deserved so much better than him! She deserved someone who could support her and take her into the sunlight, who didn't walk around in a cowardly mask and threaten people. She deserved a real man instead of a shadow.

And yet Christine thought she loved the lunatic. Raoul didn't want to hurt her or lie to her in an attempt to take her away. He was conflicted between doing what she wanted and acting in her best interest. How could he let her go off with someone who might kill her at any second? At the same time, how could he break her trust?

When they finally stepped outside, he looked down at his childhood friend, again wishing that everything were simpler. The wind blew her long hair against her damp brow, and the streetlights cast her in a glow. "Has he ever hurt you?" Raoul suddenly asked. "Done…anything else? Tell me the truth. Has he ever laid an ungodly hand on you? I'll kill him if he did!"

"What? No! Well, he pulled my hair once. _Once._ Not hard. After I took his mask off. That was the angriest he's ever been at me, and all he could do was give my hair a tug."

"And that's all he's done? He's never….he's never…"

She looked up. "He's never done anything. Where did you get that?"

"Leonie," he muttered. The expression on her face made him look away in shame. "Well, I had no way of knowing. He'd done enough to make me believe it. You promise me he never hurt you?"

Christine looked him in the eye. "I promise."

"Is it…bad under there? I mean, is it bad under the mask? Or is it just a disguise?"

"I love him," she softly repeated. "All of him. And, no, it's not a disguise. To someone who's not used to it, his face is…very shocking, I guess. I couldn't look at first, but I can now. His face is just a part of him."

"And the mass murder?" he wryly questioned. It was hard for him to get past that one.

"I've told you that he's never had much of a choice. And that I'm giving him a chance, once we're allowed to live normally." Christine took an unsteady step backward. "You're trying to take me away from him, aren't you?" She shook her head with an expression of disgust. "You don't think that Erik would find out? I'd have to spend hours trying to convince him not to kill you if you tried that, Raoul."

"I'm trying to protect you!"

"Protect me from that stupid company! Not from Erik!"

Realizing that their conversation was getting a little loud, he nervously glanced around. "All right. All right. Let's just get out of here. I won't take you away."

She crossed her arms. "Do you promise?"

"Yes. I promise." He sighed and looked across the street. "There's a bus stop over there. Let's try to get a ride before we get shot out here. I have some money in my wallet. We'll find a phone and something to eat."

"Are you sure we should do that?" She grimaced in pain as she tried to step forward.

"Well, do you want me to carry you down the streets?"

"No," she replied in resignation. "Let's go." Clutching her purse, she allowed him to lead her to the other side of the road. Raoul checked the safety on the gun and then tucked it into his coat pocket, knowing that he couldn't carry it in plain view. Keeping his head down, he bought two tickets from one of the machines at the bus stop. After the red bus pulled up with a high-pitched squeak, he quickly handed them to the disinterested driver and headed for the back with Christine close behind him.

Both kept their faces turned away from the few other passengers on board. With their disheveled appearances, maybe they looked like a couple coming back from a wild party. No one paid them any attention. Once he made sure that Christine was comfortable, Raoul cast one last wary glance out the window as the bus pulled away.

* * *

Gavin's phone rang once during the night, causing him to nearly roll off the bench. He attempted to grab it and answer before the second ring but heard only static on the other end. He hung up in frustration and sat in the dark for several minutes, gnawing on his lip. Was he being watched by the authorities or _Falcon_? Could it have been Christine or Raoul? Or was it just a wrong number? He finally fell into an uneasy sleep with a pain in the middle of his stomach. 

The sound of a door creaking open and closing awoke him the second time. A light gust of cool air traveled through the large room. Gavin tensed and looked at the revolver, wondering if he could at least scare someone with it. An elderly woman in a lavender blouse and long black skirt walked down the aisle, unaware of him. She sat in one of the front pews and bowed her head. Gavin attempted to stay perfectly quiet. When she stood up and left, he breathed a sigh of relief.

He wondered if anyone would recognize him. Had _Falcon _shown his image on the television? If the company were trying to have him subtly murdered, they wouldn't want the media or public involved, right? Still, he lay there nervously.

After an hour or so of silence, Gavin hopped up and found a water fountain and a bathroom. Someone had also left out a plastic plate of chocolate chip cookies, and he helped himself to a couple. They were a little stale, but at least he got a last meal. Morning light streamed in through the long, rectangular windows, and he stood in a yellow patch on the floor to make himself feel better.

At one point, he heard giggling children in the front hall and parents trying to shush them. He reclined on the bench again to avoid being seen, listening to the voices of the kids. Gavin smiled, hoping to hear that same laughter in his own home one day. If he survived, he wanted four or five of them. If he died, would Marisol name their one child after him? Well, obviously not if it was a girl, but…

He hit himself in the forehead and forced himself to stop thinking that way.

In some ways, he was glad there were random people walking about. It made the area less obvious of a hiding place and also a little less creepy. He avoided thinking about where everyone else was, whether Christine was alive…whether Erik was leaving a long trail of bodies behind him…Gavin shuddered.

As the hours passed, he lay down, sat up, stood, walked around, and grabbed another cookie. He tried his laptop but had no Internet service. He found a television in one of the recreational rooms and flipped it on. The news was talking about sports, meaning that his story hadn't made the headlines yet. What if he waited there and got nothing? Frustrated, he returned to the rows of pews.

Someone began to sing in one of the other rooms, maybe a woman rehearsing for choir, and the fairly pleasant sound lulled him into a nap. His phone startled him awake hours later. He raised his head and answered, noticing that no number showed up on the screen. "Hello?"

"Mr. Lewis?" The man spoke in a deep voice.

Gavin held his breath. "Yes?"

"We received your e-mail and telephone call. After looking everything over, we want to meet with you as soon as possible."

Gavin swallowed, unsure of whether he was relieved or terrified. "All right. Great. I'm in a little danger right now. I'm not sure if I can go anywhere."

"We will pick you up at your current location and take you to a secure area. You will be protected once you're in our custody."

"Great." They were probably tracing the call right now. He was probably being surrounded; running wasn't even an option anymore. "I guess just meet me out front. I'll give you the address." He found a church pamphlet and read it off to them.

"Thank you." It didn't sound like they were in desperate need of the information.

"How soon will you be here?"

"Come out the front door in several minutes, Mr. Lewis."

"All right. I will." The line went dead. Gavin cursed and hung up. His heart raced, and it was difficult for him to think. He desperately wanted to call his wife, at least to tell her that he loved and missed her. But he knew that he might be putting Marisol in danger now that his calls were being traced. She'd probably be able to tell that something was wrong by the tone of his voice, and it would worsen matters if she tried to contact him again.

He wouldn't be able to tell her goodbye. Gavin could only hope that he would see her again.

After slinging his laptop over his shoulder, he walked out the large wooden doors. He left the revolver on a high shelf in the entryway, figuring the gun would do more harm than good in this situation. It was early afternoon and party-cloudy with a cool breeze. A little black bird startled him as it hopped into a puddle and splashed around. April was nearing, bringing renewal with it. Gavin stood on the porch and then began to pace.

Finally, a man with shortly-clipped black hair, probably in his forties, came toward him. He was lean and clean-shaven, wearing a dark suit jacket over a white dress shirt. Another man in similar clothing but with sandy blond hair and a more muscular build approached on the right. Both were average height. Even if Gavin hadn't dealt with a tall, murderous guy in a mask over the last few weeks, he wouldn't have found them all that intimidating.

"Mr. Lewis?" the man on the right asked, quietly and calmly. Gavin nodded, his muscles tense. "Are you armed?"

"There's a gun inside on the right shelf." He pointed to where he had put it. "That's it." He held his breath as they thoroughly searched him. One man stepped inside to collect the firearm. The dark-haired man found his cell phone and took it, and Gavin didn't dare protest. The other one came back out and took away his laptop, and Gavin had to choke back his anger as they turned on and examined both of the devices.

"Come with us." One walked in front of him, and the other stayed slightly behind. Gavin obeyed, nearly wanting to flee in the opposite direction. Or was he safer with them? They turned a corner. An ordinary but spotless dark blue car awaited him beneath an evergreen tree. The backdoors unlocked with a click as he approached. One of the men opened the door for him. Gavin stared at the interior for a moment and took another long look at his surroundings, his heart throbbing. "Go in, Mr. Lewis. You'll be fine."

Gavin climbed inside.

* * *

"We should go fishing again, Emily. You liked that, didn't you?" 

"We've never been fishing, Mr. Oliver."

"Oh. That's right. I suppose I went with my Uncle Norbert. Every summer, we fished in Scotland. And there were those little red creatures that crawled around…little lobsters…"

"That sounds very nice." Emily cleared her throat and went back to polishing the coffee table. Mr. Oliver hadn't wanted to stay in the city. He'd returned to his house on the outskirts for peace and quiet...and to get away from Ms. Neumanns. Save for the guards outside and two inside, they were alone. As she worked to get the two-story house clean again (Thank God it wasn't one of his mansions!) she was occasionally interrupted by Mr. Oliver's strange comments. He was reclining in his favorite armchair with his head tilted back, staring at the ceiling with extreme interest.

Of course, the first thing she'd wanted to do upon arriving was see her family, but she'd been immediately rushed out of the city. Emily had called her husband several times over the last few days and left at least four messages on the answering machine, asking him to meet her somewhere. She had little gifts to give her children, t-shirts and toy drums from the islands. She knew that there was some sort of danger out there, something to do with the crazy masked man that Mr. Oliver was always ranting about. But surely Mr. Oliver would allow a couple of the bodyguards to go with her.

As soon as the table was clean and shining, she set down the rag and slowly approached him with her hands folded together. He didn't look down. "I was wondering if I could go see my boys," she quietly began.

He glanced at her. "Your boys?"

"My two sons."

He groaned and rolled his eyes. "Why don't you just stay here? You're very useful."

"Please, Mr. Oliver. Only for a day or two? You said you're leaving after all this is over, and then I'll never get to see them!" She was begging now, her upper lip trembling in frustration.

"I'm tired. We'll talk about it later." He raised his head and looked around the room with an aggravated frown. "Have you seen my newspaper?" Emily fetched it off the floor, folded the pages back together, and handed it to him. She tiptoed into the kitchen to call her husband again, praying that he would be home that afternoon. It wasn't as though he had a job to keep him busy.

Hello?" answered a gruff voice. He sounded like he hadn't gotten any sleep.

"Hello!" she exclaimed with relief. "Thank God you're home. I'm here! I'm back in England. Will you pick me up? I'll meet you somewhere."

"Emily?" His surprise quickly changed to disgust. "Why should I do that? So you can leave two days later?"

"I won't leave," she murmured, biting back the lie. "I want to come home. I want to see the children."

"They're better off without you."

The comment stung. She glanced down and looked at her ring-decked fingers; Mr. Oliver had bought her about every precious stone that existed. "Please. I want to come home. I have gifts for everyone. I'll have someone drive me to the city, and we can have dinner. There's that little Greek restaurant that you like. We'll meet there."

He sighed. "Fine. I'll get you this evening. But I'll be damned if I let you go back."

"Fine." _As though you could stop me._ "I'll be there around six-thirty or seven." She heard a shuffling sound in the background. "What's that noise?"

"Nothing. I thought I saw something and stepped outside. Must have been a cat. Damned neighbors let the diseased things run around out here. I should get out the poison."

"Oh." Emily suddenly remembered why she'd been so eager to get away. "Well, I'll see you tonight then. And bring the boys." She hung up and ran back into the living room, wringing her hands together. Mr. Oliver was reading the sports section with a content expression. "I'm leaving for a bit this evening. To see my children. And then I'll come back in a few days. I promise."

"_What?_"

He looked slightly disoriented, and so she took advantage of the situation. "You said I could go see my boys."

"I did?" He squinted. "But my furniture needs dusting. I keep sneezing."

"I'll dust it before I leave. I promise."

"I'm thirsty, too. It's hot in here."

She sighed and poured him a glass of water from a bottle. The house was freezing, actually. "You should really see a doctor. You're health is worrying me."

"I hate doctors. Sadistic bastards. All I need is warm sunshine after this mess is over. Leonie is supposed to call soon…let me know how it went. I wonder what's taking her so long. She thought she had it all figured out." He chuckled to himself and went back to the newspaper.

Emily went to her bedroom and began stuffing her belongings into a suitcase, everything from her sweaters with holes to the expensive gowns that she'd acquired from Mr. Oliver. She didn't know whether she'd be back. The men in her life were making her crazy. With old Mr. Oliver, she could afford nice things and had quiet most of the time. There was light cleaning and housework involved, but it was nothing compared to some of the other nightmarish jobs she'd had. With her lazy excuse for a husband, though, she could at least see her children.

Before she left with two bodyguards in tow, Emily gave him a kiss goodbye on his wrinkled cheek. He blinked and looked up. "I'll be back soon. Take care of yourself. And you could always call for more help, if you need it."

"I don't want more help."

"Fine, Mr. Oliver. Do what you want." Clutching her suitcase, she stepped outside and took a fresh breath of air, ignoring the chill in her blood as she climbed into the car.

* * *

Frederick slept for most of the evening, finding comfort beneath the many heaters in his home. He dreamt he was back in the warm Caribbean…or maybe he was in Scotland with Uncle Norbert again. Wherever it was, the place was better than London. He could think again, escape the complications around him and forget the unpleasant parts of his life. Whenever he was awake, his mind was cluttered, and the strange weight on his shoulders grew heavier. 

He didn't remember what awoke him. When he opened his eyes, he saw Emily standing in the entryway to the living room. Her face was pale, and her hands were balled into tight fists. Frederick's head clouded as he attempted to remember their last conversation, and he looked at the grandfather clock in the corner. Hadn't she left over an hour ago? "What are you doing here?" he asked. "I thought you were leaving tonight."

It took her a moment to speak. She rubbed at her left ear as though something were biting it. "I came back." Her voice trembled. "I wanted to see you alone."

"I thought you were going to see your children."

"I wanted time alone with you instead. Without all of them around." She gestured to the bodyguard by the front door. Her chest rose and fell with each frantic breath. "Let's go to bed. Please, Mr. Oliver."

"Why?" Was he imagining this? Or dreaming? Hallucinating? Emily wasn't normally like this, was she?

"Because I…I…" She suddenly put both hands against her ears, as though trying to block out a sound. "Because I love you."

He stood and stared at her. "Emily? Have you lost your mind?"

Her mouth remained halfway open, and her hands were shaking. She squeezed her eyes shut and spoke again, forcing the words out. "Please come with me for a moment," she pled, a tear falling down her cheek. "I'll get you something to drink. I just want to talk to you. My husband abandoned me. I'm…lonely."

He sighed. "Fine. Get me a glass of white wine."

"Yes. Wine," she whispered. "Mr. Oliver…"

"What?" he asked, beginning to get a headache.

"I…" Emily touched her left ear again. A grimace formed on her mouth, and she rapidly shook her head. "Nothing. I'll get the wine."


	67. Kings, Queens, Knights, and Pawns

This is a very long chapter, but I wanted to get everything in. Thank you as always for your kind feedback. And a big thanks to _MadLizzy_ for her continuing help. Here we go…

**Read and Review!!!**

Leonie leaned back into the leather chair and settled both arms on the armrests, never breaking eye contact with the pretty girl in front of her. The tiniest smile remained upon her face, a vindictive smirk. The girl looked away first.

"It was a simple task, and you failed," Leonie murmured. "Any other girl could have gotten it done."

Abby brushed a curly strand of hair out of her face and leaned forward. "It wasn't simple!" she shrilly exclaimed. "Raoul wasn't interested in me. I did everything I could that night. He pushed me away!"

Leonie pursed her lips. "No, dear. You failed, and you're not admitting it. All you had to do was seduce the silly boy, get his mind off these matters. And now I have an enormous problem on my hands. A problem that keepings growing and growing. All because of your tiresome incompetence."

"I got the microphone planted in his room!"

"And that did me any good? I could have done that myself."

Abby rolled her eyes and stood. "Fine. I'm not going to stay here and listen to you insult me. Just don't pay me. I'm leaving."

"You'll be escorted out," Leonie replied, her gaze falling to the desk. Her smile widened by a millimeter. She didn't move as Abby yelped when two men grabbed her roughly by the arms. One man clamped a hand over her mouth to muffle her screams, and they dragged her away to another room. Leonie was unable to hear the two shots that were fired into the back of the young woman's head.

Abby simply knew too much now. Everyone knew too much, it seemed.

Normally, Leonie wasn't so quick to exterminate people; the act always carried risks. But times were desperate now. Frederick's men killed only one of her enemies, the Middle Eastern man. He was the most insignificant of them all, and the news had been extremely disappointing. The demon was still on the loose, as was de Chagny, the girl, and the other boy. Leonie considered her options carefully.

The men were still searching the city, but they couldn't be relied upon. Even Darrel had gotten himself killed and failed her, and she was making quick plans to leave the country. The situation was becoming more and more out of her control. With careful preparation, she could find a way to blame every crime on Oliver. By the time the authorities figured everything out, she would be long gone.

A man poked his head into the room, his face very pale. "We're going to dispose of the body. Need anything else done today?"

Leonie glanced up and shook her head in disgust. "Why don't you ask me even louder so everyone can hear you, dear?" She waved a dismissing hand. "No. I don't need you. Unless you want to help on our search for the Daae girl."

He nodded and left.

Perhaps she had always known this day would come…the day when her power slowly slid away from her fingertips. Empires never lasted forever, and she'd had many good decades on her throne. Ah well. She'd escape the dreary country and spend the rest of her life in retirement. She'd been meaning to take a trip to Japan for some time now.

The only thing that grated at her was that she'd never successfully ridded herself of the monster. Leonie had failed in that area, and she despised failing. She'd even wanted to kill the girl in front of the creature, to watch those yellow eyes suffer as Ms. Daae's throat was slit. What a rush that would be! She experienced delightful tingles just thinking about it, similar to the sensation of being with a skilled lover.

But she couldn't find her murderous monster. He'd beaten her in their little game.

How very aggravating.

* * *

After leaving Mr. Lewis at the church, _he'd_ searched the tunnels for hours, focused and unyielding. If he were to lose his concentration, he would lose his mind with it. The feeling in his chest threatened to rise up and strangle him. 

He'd felt similar panic when first being imprisoned. As the months had passed, he'd realized that no one was ever coming to save him; no one cared. After breaking free of the hellhole, he vowed never again to be so out of control. The world would fear him as a phantom that came in the night to take revenge, leaving only the mangled bodies behind as evidence. Finding the remaining members of _Falcon_ became a game.

After his first weeks with Christine, though, he truly realized how miserable and empty his life was. No matter how many he slaughtered, he would remain alone and unloved. But the last year had taken these cold truths and twisted them into something so…so warm and divine that he wasn't able to comprehend it yet.

He only knew that he had to find her.

He was able to see every corner and crevice of the tunnels in the dark. With each empty turn, he felt sicker and less sane. His Christine was not there, nor were any more of the company's assailants. He finally went aboveground and ventured into alleyways, basements, and anywhere else that Christine or the idiot boy might have chosen to hide. Nothing. The company had likely taken her after murdering Nadir. De Chagny didn't have the competence to protect her. Maybe the boy was even dead by now. Pity.

_Falcon_ might not take her life until they had _him_. But the thought of what else they could do to her nearly took what was left of his composure.

He returned to where his friend lay dead upon the cold concrete, before collecting the body and wrapping it in two thick blankets. After finding a large steel shovel in one of the utility closets, he went outside. It was near three in the morning; he had some time before sunrise. A grief lingered in the back of his mind as he prepared a grave near what appeared to be an abandoned public park. An aging wooden bridge over a dried-up pond and a rusted bench were situated nearby. He would have liked to give Nadir better, perhaps he would later, but time was now precious.

He stared down at his deceased companion before shoveling moist dirt into the hole. Considering the number of times he had threatened to kill Nadir, the sharp pain in his chest puzzled him. After the burial was complete, _he_ hurled the shovel several feet with a soft hiss. The dire need to strangle someone overtook him.

But no. Going on a crazed murder spree would not be to his benefit. His attack had to be silent and unsuspected, especially if he wanted to see her alive again.

And perhaps he somehow knew that he could not offer her his hand in marriage if the blood of innocents dripped from his fingers.

_A wife. _That thought alone kept him focused. _A living wife._ _Let her still be alive._

He began to search the city, continuing even after the gaudy sun had risen. A large number of men were under someone's control, and he was certain that Oliver had returned to England. It was likely that he and Ms. Neumanns were working together, two vultures circling over London.

Entering _Falcon's_ building was impossible. The looming structure was designed to keep out everything from the authorities to insects, and even he could not get inside unnoticed. He could also find no trace of where Leonie Neumanns was located. She had a way of controlling the events around her with an invisible hand. An ordinary person might have found the talent disquieting. But nothing was capable of disturbing him anymore.

Except for Christine's absence.

Finally, he gave up on finding Ms. Neumanns. Remembering the places that he'd originally searched for Oliver in January, he attempted to stay in the shadows and hunt for information. Even in daylight, he was adept at keeping himself concealed. A red-headed boy caught sight of him once as he crossed a street, but _he_ disappeared before the parent could look up.

After following several fruitless and frustrating leads, he returned to the home of the maid that Oliver had employed, remembering his slight success there months ago. Only for his beloved had he first abandoned his bloody plans to take revenge. Only for her was he now forced to carry them out.

Upon entering the empty house, he found messages on the answering machine from the woman. As he suspected, Oliver was back in the country. Mrs. Emily Coleman gave no hint of where she was staying, and he could find no address inside the house, despite over an hour of digging through papers. Still, it was the most success he'd had all day.

The husband came home, dirty and disgruntled, and _he'd_ situated himself outside to keep watch. He contemplated holding a noose around Mr. Coleman's neck and demanding to know where his wife was. But what if the man did not have such information? And would _he_ have no choice but to murder the man after making his presence known?

The children had entered soon after, squabbling over some trivial matter, and his skeletal hands clenched into fists. He could feel Christine watching him, knew she wouldn't want any of these pathetic people harmed in her name. And he clearly saw the horrific questioned being posed: How could he keep her alive and still keep her?

He was miraculously saved by a telephone call that afternoon. The dirty window was cracked open and the walls were paper thin, and he could hear both sides of the conversation. He stopped his wild pacing and listened as the husband reluctantly agreed to retrieve her. The exact location was never mentioned. But he knew how to put the situation in his favor.

An hour later, _he_ called the home from a nearby office complex, keeping his voice at a lower range in an attempt to sound normal. A child answered. "Hello?"

He cringed. "You will let me speak to Mr. Coleman"

"Okay!" the boy cheerfully replied.

"Hello?" gruffly answered a man.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Coleman. This is Mrs. Coleman's employer. You were supposed to meet her at _Daquise_ tonight, correct?" It was a random restaurant he'd found in the telephone book.

"I'm meeting her at _Vasis_," the man corrected. He was too irritated and dense to consider the consequences. "Why? What do you want?"

"I am afraid that she will not be meeting you. She has taken ill with a horrid virus and cannot get out of bed."

"Then maybe I'd better come there and get her!" Mr. Coleman angrily exclaimed. "I'm her husband!"

_He_ considered the usefulness of the statement. "Are you aware of where I live?"

"No! Give me the address."

"Then you will not be seeing your wife this evening."

"You son of a--"

He hung up the telephone. The building was warm, and his flesh was clinging to the porcelain. He pulled the mask off, tearing some of his death's skin off with it, and rubbed his fingers over his face. The feeling of his own hideousness made him ache all the more for Christine. His mind would not last much longer without her.

He checked back on the Coleman household several times, cutting the phone line to make sure that the woman wouldn't call back and ruin his arrangements. All remained orderly, though. The husband sat on the sofa with a beer, watching televised sports with a frown and occasionally snapping at his offspring. _He_ also searched parts of the city again, hoping for some miraculous sign of her. There was none.

And so he gathered all desired materials: syringes, twine, knives, and objects that would send people running in the opposite direction. He went on the course that had been designed for him, wondering if the only gift he could ever give Christine was death.

While waiting for Mrs. Coleman's arrival that evening at the restaurant, he watched as other couples walked past him and bitterly envied every soul who could go out to dinner without a second thought. The most he could ever hope for was Christine allowing him to eat in her presence. Every bit of his wretchedness was _Falcon's_ fault. Now they had stolen the one person who had prevented him from hanging himself! If they had harmed her, he would ensure that they suffered. Perhaps he would find a violin and play it while they bled to death. Perhaps…perhaps…Two more requiems in red!

His concentration was slowly giving way to madness.

She finally emerged from a long, black limousine with two bodyguards; he recognized her from the photographs in her home. The sight of the brunette woman made him feel a step closer to getting Christine back. And that sensation alone allowed him to accomplish the devious deed.

"Emily…" He said her name softly as she passed down the sidewalk, a breeze brushing against her ear. The woman glanced up and blinked, perhaps thinking her husband was calling her. He said her name again, this time in the hypnotizing tone that his mother had once deemed a tool of the Devil.

She stopped walking altogether and desperately looked around, her eyes glazing over. He noted with delight that her mind was not strong; she could not block out his voice. That would bode well for everyone.

The two bodyguards followed her as she turned and made her way behind the restaurant, all three of them nearing his cozy little corner. The men side-glanced each other. "What are you doing?" one asked her. "The entrance is this way. Your husband is probably inside."

"Someone is calling me," she murmured with a small smile. "It's so pretty…"

_He_ continued to talk to her, telling her that he was a heavenly being…singing a few lines of a gentle foreign song…making her his puppet. This was his game now! _His!_ And they would play by his rules!

One of the bodyguards tried to guide her in the other direction, a disturbed frown on his face. When the man came within range, _he_ whispered in his ear to distract him. The bodyguard whirled around and reached for his firearm. _He_ wrapped the lasso around the man's neck and pulled him into the shadows, tightening the noose to prevent him from screaming. After plunging a syringe into a vein, _he_ injected enough sedative to keep the man unconscious for at least twelve hours. The bodyguard slumped to the ground with a moan.

Mrs. Coleman was still staring into the dark with a blank look on her face, the 'magical' voice still ringing in her mind. The other bodyguard was about to draw his gun, alarmed by the sudden disappearance of his partner. _He _threw the lasso again and grabbed the second bodyguard by the neck, yanking him into the shadows and tightening the noose until the man was half-conscious.

Child's play, really.

"Emily," he whispered. She walked forward with wide eyes. Only the sight of the writhing bodyguard finally snapped the girl out of her trance. Her faced turned white, and she opened her mouth to scream. "No, Mrs. Coleman. Do not make noise. I will kill them if you do. See?" He jiggled the end of the lasso; the bodyguard quietly moaned. "They are merely asleep. And you wish to keep them alive, don't you?" With her mouth still half-open, she nodded. She took a quick glance behind her. "No one will help you," he continued. "This is my game. You will do as I say!"

The girl turned back to look at him. "You…" she stuttered, rapidly shaking her head and trying to force away the bad dream. She stared down at the bodyguards, perhaps realizing that screaming and running might give her an even worse fate. "Oh, God. You…"

"Yes. Yes," he wryly muttered. "The dreaded monster has found you. The evil, soulless demon. A shame, I know. But you will do as he says. The monster is very tired, really. Very tired! He merely wishes for cooperation. No screaming or running or making a fuss. Otherwise, people will die. And _she_ will not like that. And you will not like that. Women do not like death, I know." He plunged the needle into the other bodyguard to keep him unconscious. "See. Merely asleep." He had tied the men's wrists together with twine and tossed them both behind a dumpster before she could move.

"Please…" she whispered, taking several steps backwards.

He roped her wrists together to hold her in place. "No. You will not leave. And you will answer my question. Where is Ms. Daae? Do you know where she is? If you do, this will all be over very quickly." He pulled her close, and she leaned back, gaping in horror. "Where is Ms. Daae?"

She shook her head again. "I don't know!"

"Lying to the monster would be the most damning thing you could do now, Mrs. Coleman."

"I don't know," she choked out. "I have no idea. She's been missing for a long time. I don't know where she is! I swear I don't know!"

He stared into her tear-filled eyes. "Then Oliver will know. And you know where he is. And you will take me to him."

"I don't think Mr. Oliver knows," she frantically whispered. "He's never said anything!"

"He will know. If you wish to live…if you wish your two little boys to live, then you will cooperate!" He loomed over her. "Won't you? You will help the monster?"

"I will," she whispered, trembling.

He permitted her to back away from him and released her wrists; she would be useless if she fainted. "It will be less painful if you relax and follow my directions. The car is still there. Tell the driver not to unload your luggage and that you wish to return to Mr. Oliver. Tell him that your husband will not let you come home. If he enquires about your escorts, tell him that you wanted one bodyguard to stay and protect your family."

"But there were two," she murmured.

"And you will still have one companion." Utter dread fell upon her features as she realized he meant to travel with her. She desperately looked around for help again. "No, Mrs. Coleman. You will not succeed. The monster will be gone before anyone ever sees him, and your family will be in grave danger. Your little lads will not see their teen years." He spoke to her in the sing-song voice again, infecting her mind. "Do as you are told, Emily. The voice will tell you what to do. Do not even think any longer! Your mind is no longer of use to you! Just listen to the little voice!"

In a trance, she walked away and did as he asked, her voice dead and emotionless. He listened to her conversation with the driver. If the tactic did not work, he would be forced to either threaten the driver or tranquilize him and make the girl drive. The elderly man nodded and shrugged, though, thereby saving him the trouble. _He_ briefly wondered if there was something wrong with Oliver for him to be so lax with security.

Folding her arms against her chest, Mrs. Coleman climbed into the vehicle, her eyes still hazy. "Act like you are going to cry," _he_ instructed. "Tell the driver you want the divider up." She did so, and her tear-choked voice was rather convincing. Before anyone could get a clear view of him, _he_ flew into the darkened limousine. He sat with his back to the front seat and closed the door. If the driver did check the backseat, all the old man would see was a pale head that didn't have much hair.

_He_ toyed with the door before the driver locked it, ensuring that he could make a quick escape if need be. The woman sat in a corner with her arms folded, shaking and staring at him as her consciousness returned. He grew sick of her frightened gaze after ten minutes. Fearing that she would scream for help soon, he hummed a song in her head and put the woman to sleep.

Whenever the car stopped or slowed, he became rigid and placed a hand on the lasso, preparing to fight or escape. His fingers curled in anticipation, and his blood warmed. So close to Oliver…So close to finding Christine….His mind was buzzing.

"Is the temperature okay back there?" asked the driver.

"Perfect," he replied through gritted teeth, keeping his voice low. _All was perfect…_

A bump in the road awoke Mrs. Coleman some time later. She blinked once and then jumped when she saw her companion, her fingers digging into the edge of the seat.

"Are we near?" he calmly enquired, still using the hypnotizing voice. "Do not lie to me."

"Yes," she sickly murmured, staring out the window.

He looked up and saw a dimly lit two-story home in the distance. It was not the mansion that he had been expecting. Groves of pine trees were scattered about the area; he could hide within them if necessary.

"Where is Mr. Oliver's bedroom?" She was silent. He glared. "If I am forced to find the room myself, I will become very irritated," he whispered. "And people might die." He put his voice directly into her ear. "_Where is Mr. Oliver's bedroom?"_ he hissed.

"First floor," she murmured, shivering. "On the far left."

Energy surged through him as the car turned right and started to pass through a gate. "Tell the driver you are very sick," he commanded, unable to hide the pleasure in his tone. "Tell him to pull over."

It was not so far from the truth. After doing as he ordered, Mrs. Coleman opened the door, fell out of the car, and vomited onto the roadside. _He_ darted out of the vehicle before anyone had a chance to inspect it, keeping away from the glow of the headlights. A moment of chaos soon ensued behind him. The other guards hurled questions at the driver and the girl, obviously wondering where the two men had gone. The driver stuttered as he attempted to explain himself. Emily stood there shaking and rocking back and forth, no longer able to think for herself. "Tell them your two bodyguards were shot." He amused himself with the situation. "Perhaps they were killed by Ms. Neumanns' men. Tell them you are very frightened and want to go inside."

Mrs. Coleman nearly repeated the phrases verbatim, confusing the involved parties even more. Several of the guards looked ready to tackle the driver, and _he_ was nearly able to approach the home unnoticed. Dressed in black, he could pass for another bodyguard as he guided the girl toward the front door, humming in her head to keep her in his control. The game was dangerous now; the lights from inside were illuminating his form and making him a clearer target. He checked carefully for signs of a security system that would need to be disabled but saw none. Perhaps Oliver had not been there very long.

Or perhaps there really was something wrong with Frederick Oliver. How very fortunate….

So very close…

Mrs. Coleman knocked twice on the door, and the guard on the inside opened it to grant her entrance. Worried that he would lose control of her mind once she was inside, _he_ quickly spoke. "Tell him that someone is chasing you," he murmured. "Point. Scream. Cry. You are terrified. Your life is in danger!" Her head titled back, and, with a soft moan, she did as he ordered.

The bodyguard stepped outside and glanced around, bringing a hand toward his gun. His attention was momentarily drawn away by the happenings beside the vehicle, and _he_ took that moment to whisper nonsensically in the man's ear. The bodyguard looked in the opposite direction and started to take a step forward. Taking the lasso, _he _threw it downward and wrapped it around the man's ankle, sending the bodyguard falling face first to the ground.

_He _slipped into the home in a dark whoosh, unnoticed by anyone. By the time the man had jumped to his feet, _he_ was hidden behind the grand piano and resisting the urge to play an elegy on the expensive instrument. Oliver did not deserve such a fine instrument!

Embarrassed, the bodyguard stood up and looked around. He stepped back inside and closed the door. "There's no one out there," he stated, clearing his throat.

Mrs. Coleman spoke the words that were echoing in her head. "It must have been an animal. I'm very tired. I guess I'm seeing things."

Someone called the bodyguard on a cell phone, perhaps alerting him to what was happening outside, and he was distracted from the incident. Mrs. Coleman continued to stand by the entrance, arms limp at her sides.

And from that point on, it was all in _his _hands.

_He_ told her exactly what to say to Frederick Oliver to get him to go to bed. A wicked sense of joy burst within him as he finally got a glimpse of the pathetic man. It would be easy to kill him, almost too easy. Oliver looked haggard, his face drawn in and his eyes distant. Old age was already beginning to claim its next victim.

But _he_ had no sympathy. He was far, far beyond sympathy.

He positioned himself in the bedroom, noting that it was the most luxurious one in the home. The picture windows were locked, and he hoped that he could smash them if a quick escape was required. He ducked into a closet that was the size of a smaller bedroom and filled with designer suits and leather shoes.

The only interruption in his plan was when one of the guards poked his head into the home and told Oliver of the missing men.

"Just guard the damned house," Oliver replied, rubbing his temples. He stumbled slightly as he walked. "It wouldn't surprise me if Leonie was trying something. But I'm going to bed. I can't even keep my eyes open." Emily brought in two glasses of wine, her hands trembling. Oliver took a glass and sipped from it with a content sigh.

"Lock the door, Emily," _he _murmured. The door was closed and locked. A smile formed on his twisted mouth. _His game. His night. _

"Mr. Oliver," the girl choked out, staring up at him with wide eyes.

"What?" Oliver asked, loosening his tie. "What the hell is wrong with you tonight?"

"I…I…I…"

"Are you drunk, Emily?"

"Oh, Mr. Oliver. I--"

"Good evening, Mr. Oliver." _He_ floated his voice around the room and stepped forward, heightening himself…looking like something straight out of hell.

Oliver's face turned as white as the wine. The glass slipped from his fingers and fell to the floor with a soft thud. The liquid spilled onto the carpet. "No," he whispered.

"I'm sorry!" Mrs. Coleman choked out. "But he said he'd kill my family. I couldn't…I couldn't even think! I don't even remember anything! I'm sorry!" She began to sob and clutch her head. "I don't even remember!"

"Silence!" _he_ hissed at her. She backed up and tripped onto the bed. _He_ wrapped the noose around Oliver's neck and yanked him backward, cruel delight pouring through his veins. _How he had yearned for this moment…_ Oliver weakly cried out. "No," he chided. "Screaming will get you nowhere. I will kill you before they arrive. Better yet, I will drag you with me to where no one will hear you scream. And then I will torture you. The only way to attain a peaceful death rather than an agonizing one is to tell me where she is."

"Monster," Oliver choked out, his fingers digging into the lasso as he struggled to breathe.

"Yes. Yes. The monster is here! We are all aware of that, my friend. Now where is she?"

"Where's who?"

Rage colored his vision. _He_ slammed Oliver up against the wall, removing one hand from the man's neck to pull a small knife out of his pocket.

"Stop," the girl whimpered. "Please stop."

_He_ briefly glanced down at her. "You may go into the closet, close the door, and put your hands over your ears. That is all I will offer you. Unless you wish to be sedated." He could not let her leave; she would call for help. His eagerness to get to Oliver had make him overlook the fact that there would be a witness to the torture.

He twisted Oliver's wrist until the bone popped. Oliver released a choked moan. "You do not know how long I have waited for this meeting," _he_ continued. "It was delayed sixteen years. Better late than never, no? And I am so very delighted to make your acquaintance. You even brought wine for our little get-together. How courteous of you!"

"You're vile." Oliver writhed in pain. "Disgusting, hideous, vile….You…you and Leonie are the two sickest people on this earth." He cried out again as his arm was twisted behind his back.

"Flattering me will get you nowhere, my friend." _He _leaned in, holding the blade up to Oliver's cheek. "Now where is she? Where is Christine? Do you recall what I did to the others? Your death will be ten times worse, Mr. Oliver. Unless you tell me what you have done with her."

"I don't know where she is! I haven't seen her!"

_He_ was alarmed by the truth in Oliver's eyes. "Where is she?" He pushed the man's head back, nearly crushing his skull against the wall. "Where is she? _Where is she!"_

Oliver groaned, and his eyes briefly rolled back into his head. "I don't know," he weakly murmured, blooding trickling down the side of his face. "I don't know."

A frustrated growl escaped his lips. _No. No. No. Oliver had to know! He had to know!_ _He_ started to press the knife into the man's wrinkled flesh, making a crimson groove in his cheek. He began to bring the blade up towards Oliver's left eye. Only the voice of the girl stopped him.

"Leonie!" she exclaimed through her tears. "Leonie would know where Christine is!" He started to pull out a needle to tranquilize her. Before he could, her words managed to leak into his distorted mind. "If you stop, I'll call her," she continued. "She'll…she'll know about Christine…She's in charge of everything. If you stop hurting him, I'll call."

He chuckled, continuing to hold Oliver up against the wall. "I do not make bargains. Perhaps you should do so for your own sake."

"But…but he's sick," she stuttered between sobs. "Mr. Oliver's not well. And Ms. Neumanns will want to talk to him. She won't talk to me. Please! Please stop."

_Please, don't. Don't do this. I'll do anything. Don't kill him. _

Oliver was clutching his broken wrist and staring blankly at the floor. The blood dripped off his cheek and onto his white shirt, staining the fabric. He muttered something indiscernible. He wasn't fighting anymore.

_You're…you're not a monster. I know you're not. _

_

* * *

_The first phone call came right after Leonie had propped her feet upon a cushy velvet footstool and leaned back to watch a nighttime sitcom. It was brainless television, but she didn't always need to have her intellect stimulated. She needed to relax and unwind; panicking never did anybody any good. 

She'd already packed one suitcase and began making discreet arrangements to get out of the country. Whatever was happening out there didn't matter. She would be gone before the authorities could lay a hand on her. No one would ever see her in a prison uniform.

_Ever._

With a yawn, she answered the phone. "Hello?"

There was a brief pause. "Ms. Neumanns?" It was one of her men. He'd 'assisted' her with Abby earlier that day.

"Yes. What?"

"They're dead."

She sat up straight and leaned forward, wide awake now. "Who's dead?"

"De Chagny and the girl."

"_What?_" Leonie jumped up and turned off the television. "I told you not to kill the girl! How could you be so stupid? What were you thinking?"

"It was an accident." His voice shook. "She got in the way when I tried to kill de Chagny."

"You're professionally trained for this!" she snapped. "Surely you're aware of how to handle that sort of situation."

"I…panicked. I'm sorry, Ms. Neumanns."

She sighed and pushed her hair out of her face. "Well, at least the boy is dead," she murmured, looking out her window.

"Yeah. He's gone."

"Do you have any proof?"

"A ring," he replied. "It has a giant diamond. I wanted it for myself. And some IDs."

"Hmm. I'd rather like to see the bodies." Her telephone beeped, signaling that another call was coming through. Leonie glanced at the screen; it was Frederick. "Give me a moment," she commanded, changing lines. "Freddie?"

"Leonie?" Frederick's voice was hoarse, and his breath was ragged.

Her eyes narrowed. "What's wrong with you?"

"Nothing. Nothing. I have a question for you." He continued to pant as though in pain. "What did you do with the Daae girl?"

_Well, this was rather odd._ "Why? Why do you even think I have her?"

"Just tell me what you did with the Daae girl!" he exclaimed. "Is she alive?"

Leonie started to tell him the news of her possible death. But there was something very strange about Frederick's tone. He sounded almost frightened. And she couldn't help but wonder…"Why do you want to know where the girl is, Freddie?"

"Because I…" He choked. "I want to understand what's happening. I want to be a part of this plan. Just like the old days. Right, Leonie?"

"Like the old days, Freddie?" She forced herself not to burst into laughter.

"Where is Christine?" he whispered. "Tell me."

Leonie smiled. Dear Freddie was afraid of something. "I have Christine," she murmured. "I've taken her to lure the monster."

"And where exactly are you?" Frederick asked through gritted teeth. "Give me the damned address so I can help you. "

Leonie's body shook with suppressed giggles. "I have a better idea, Freddie."


	68. Some Good

I'm sorry for the delay, guys. I've been a little busy. I also hope that I'm not confusing anyone with the time frames in this chapter. It kind of picks up from Chapter 66. Hopefully, everything will come together like a puzzle.

Thank you again for all your kind comments. I'll try to do replies over these last several chapters. And thanks to _MadLizzy_ for all her help.

**Read and Review!!!**

They remained on the bus for at least thirty minutes, if for no other reason than to rest within the comfort of the warm seat. Raoul finally suggested that they get off in a safer section of the city. A few of the restaurants and pubs were still lit up, and the people weren't lumbering around with disturbing leers. Christine limped as she desperately searched for a payphone, gripping onto his upper arm for support. Her cellular phone still wasn't working.

Raoul's throat was so parched that it was sore. "Let's go into one of these places." He pointed to a restaurant with a bright red sign. "We need some water."

Christine bit her lip. "What if someone sees us?"

"They won't remember. There are millions of people in this city. No one cares about us."

"I want to call Gavin first," she stated. "I want to find Erik and make sure they're okay."

Raoul sighed. Rather than anger, Erik's name now sent a sharp pang through his chest. "I don't see a phone out here. Let's go inside and see if they'll let us use one. And then we'll get something to drink."

She hesitated, before nodding and allowing him to lead her inside. Her eyes nervously darted around the mostly empty restaurant. Light rock music played over the speakers, and the smell of some sort of stew hung in the air. A middle-aged waitress came up with a pad of paper and a bored expression. Raoul spoke first, trying to keep a calm tone. "Do you mind if we use your phone? I'll pay if you--"

"Go ahead." She pointed her pen toward an out-of-date black phone by the register.

"Thanks." Christine dug Gavin's number out of her purse and handed it to him. As Raoul walked over toward the phone, he noticed that the waitress was now staring at Christine. Christine backed up a step and winced as she put weight on her foot.

Raoul picked up the receiver and started to dial. The waitress spoke. "You look just like..." She squinted. "Are you...? You're that missing girl on television!" One of the customers glanced up.

Christine was already limping toward the door, her eyes wide with panic. Raoul had barely finished dialing and had no choice but to hang up and follow her. They rushed out of the restaurant. He grabbed her hand and attempted to pull her along, feeling guilty as she gave a cry of pain. With tears in her eyes, Christine spoke in a choked whisper. "We can't be in public. Everyone knows. We need to go where no one can see us."

"But we need water. And you need medical help." Raoul glanced behind them and saw some guy poke his head out of the restaurant. He cursed, beginning to succumb to a general feeling of despair. "Fine," he murmured. "Let's hide. It's probably getting close to morning anyway."

"Maybe we could find the tunnels again."

He shook his head. "Let's go up instead of down. I'm tired of being underground, and that's where they'd expect us to be. Let's go to a higher floor of one of these buildings."

"But Erik won't know..." Christine paused and looked at the ground, her expression downcast. "He'll never find us now, anyway. All right. Let's go up."

After leaving Christine in what he hoped was a safe and secluded corner, Raoul went through the recently renovated buildings until he found one that was unlocked. If his memory was right, it was Saturday; he hoped that most people would have the day off. He retrieved Christine and helped her up a set of stairs, nearly carrying her at one point. The smell of paint and freshly-cut wood almost made him dizzy. The top floor had a long uncarpeted hallway, and he chose a random room in the middle of the corridor. Raoul felt more empowered as he looked through one of the dusty windows and down upon the city. It was refreshing to be high up and not stuck belowground like a mole.

Christine didn't seem particularly thrilled by their location. She leaned against the wall and slumped to the floor, her face pale. After a moment, Raoul wearily took a seat beside her.

They spent the entire day in hiding. Raoul often paced and stared out the window, watching the shadows shift as clouds drifted over the sun. No one ever entered the building. At one point, he found a half-empty bottle of water that had likely been left by a worker. He didn't know if he wanted to drink after someone else. Maybe if things got desperate...

Christine slept for most of the day, sometimes shivering and sometimes sweating. Her foot and ankle were swelling and taking on an unpleasant purple shade. When she awoke, Raoul helped her remove her tattered shoe and again said that she needed a hospital. She shrugged and went back to sleep.

Late in the evening, Raoul again sat down beside her and stared down at her scalp, watching the wispy strands of blonde hair occasionally move with an air current. Her health had continued to deteriorate throughout the day, and the pain in her foot had become worse. They couldn't spend another night and day like this. Raoul finally gave in and drank some of the water, figuring there wouldn't be much difference between dying of dehydration and perishing from some disease. "Christine?" He touched her clammy cheek.

Her lip twitched. "Erik," she murmured, her eyes still closed.

Raoul flinched and glanced at the ceiling with a silent plea. "Christine," he loudly repeated. She finally opened her eyes and looked around, frowning as her memory returned "We have to leave this. You've got to get to a hospital."

"They'll kill us," she whispered, rapidly shaking her head. "Where are we going to go?"

"Tell you what," he slowly began. "I'll go back down and look for help. I'll try to call Gavin again. It will be easier for me to get away if I'm alone. And at least you'll be safer here…" He saw her disheartened gaze. "Unless you don't want to be left alone..."

Her eyes closed again. "I don't know. I'm so tired. Yeah. You should go alone…" She muttered something that he couldn't understand and went back to sleep.

"I'll get more water," he whispered, setting the used bottle beside her. He checked the pistol to make sure it was in working order. "I'll be back soon." She didn't respond. After exiting and closing the door behind him, Raoul went down the steps and ventured outside. He walked a ways down the cracked sidewalk, being sure to mentally mark the building where Christine was hiding.

His sole target was a stupid phone. Maybe if he went into a restaurant by himself they'd be less likely to identify him. He wasn't even wanted anymore, was he? Or was that a stupid move? A bitterness rose up in inside his chest, along with an envy that he couldn't bear to acknowledge to himself. He wasn't street smart.

After at least ten minutes of walking and turning corners, he spotted a payphone near a bus stop. With a sigh of relief, he started to rush toward it with an outstretched hand, his heart racing as he emerged in plain view. _Just one stupid call…_

Suddenly, he heard a faint popping noise…the sound of a gun with a silencer. He jumped and whirled around, his body preparing itself for pain and blood loss. Neither came, though. Raoul raised the pistol but saw no target. He wondered if it had been a car and cursed at himself for being paranoid.

As he started to turn left and head for the phone again, he saw something in the corner of his vision and jerked backward. A guy dressed entirely in black and wearing a dark ski mask was standing at the corner. For a second, Raoul thought it was Erik. The man was too short, though, and no yellow glow shone from behind the mask.

Raoul started to speak but blanched as his eyes trailed downwards. The guy was holding a pistol down at his side. Another man with shaggy brown hair was lying facedown on the pavement, bleeding from the back of the head. Raoul pointed his gun at the chest of the standing man, breathing heavily as he attempted to make sense of what was happening.

"You'd be the easiest target we've had in while," the man murmured, scratching the back of his head. He didn't sound any older than his mid-twenties. "Damn. What a mess." He looked at Raoul's gun. "Mind putting that down?"

Raoul glared, his finger still on the trigger. "What do you want?" He was tempted to fire the gun and end it. Despite killing Darrel, though, he hadn't acquired the talent to easily take lives.

"You knew Abby, right?" the man asked, keeping an eye on the firearm.

"I met her once." The memory left a sour taste in Raoul's mouth. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"She was killed this afternoon. Twice in the back of the head."

"You're disgusting." _Why couldn't he just fire the stupid gun?_

"Well, _he_ shot her." The man gestured to the dead guy. "I helped with the details. Don't really want to do it again, though." The man paused, appearing a little disoriented. "The company is collapsing. All of us can feel it now. I even heard something on the radio this evening. Neumanns is escaping and leaving the rest of us to clean up the mess. And I want out."

_You deserve to rot in jail._ Raoul shook his head. "What do you want?"

The man ignored the question. "You've hid the Daae girl somewhere?"

Raoul opened his mouth and paused. "She's dead."

His hazel eyes narrowed suspiciously. "I'm sorry," he finally said, not sounding as though he was entirely convinced. "I wanted to stop it before that point."

"Like hell you're sorry! You wanted me to lead you to her!"

"No. That's what _he_ wanted to do with you." The man gestured to his fallen partner again. "He wanted to follow you back to the girl and then kill you. Maybe torture you a little." He chuckled. "Leonie always liked him."

Raoul took a deep breath. "So why'd you stop him?"

"If we brought the Daae girl back, she'd eventually end up like Abby…or worse. I'm not up to it, you know? And Leonie would probably have me shot for knowing about all this crap she does. The woman is getting crazy." He sighed. "I want to get away. But I could use something of value to grab a ticket out of here…"

"Why should I give you anything? You just helped kill a girl."

"Because I just saved your sorry silver spoon-fed ass." The guy paused. "If you have something of value, maybe I could get the other guys out there to stay away from this area…"

"Or I could shoot you," Raoul threatened.

The man gave a deep laugh. "Leonie will anyway." He shrugged. "Look. I just want out of here. If you don't have anything, then maybe I'll walk away and rob some other rich guy. Good luck surviving the night." He started to turn around.

Raoul's hands shook with the gun as he tried to think of a proper course of action. Should he shoot? Would the guy tell someone? Was it a trap? Did he know about Christine? At least if everyone thought she was dead, then… "Wait!" he exclaimed. The man glanced back. "Tell Leonie that we're both dead," Raoul ordered through gritted teeth. "Tell her that you killed me. Or that you killed both of us. Tell her you saw us both die."

"I don't know if she'd believe it without bodies."

"Just try," Raoul whispered. He hesitated, before pulling the diamond ring from his coat pocket. He'd carried it with him since the day Christine had returned it, hoping she'd eventually take it back. But that hope had finally managed to die. "Give Leonie this as proof. Or use it to get away. I don't really care. But I want to see you call Leonie."

"How about your ID, too? She might want that."

"Fine." He yanked the card out of his pocket. _Good luck trying to steal my identity._

The man glanced at the photograph and chuckled. Raoul gave him a dirty look. "How much is the ring worth?"

"It's invaluable." Something stung Raoul's heart.

The man scoffed. "Diamond ain't that big."

"Probably about three thousand pounds." The man nodded in approval. Raoul managed to hang onto the possessions and keep the gun raised. "Now call Leonie and tell her we're dead. Tell everyone we're dead. I'm sick of being chased and shot at!"

"All right. I'll try. For that nice ring." The man pulled out a cell phone and dialed. Raoul lowered the gun and leaned in to hear Leonie's voice on the other end; he couldn't tell if she was convinced. She sounded more agitated than anything else. There was also a long pause in the conversation when Leonie left to take another call. After a few more one-syllable words, the man hung up with a puzzled expression. "Something's up. She's in a hurry to get somewhere. She's…excited about something." The guy shrugged and suddenly hurled the phone onto the roof of a building before Raoul could ask to use it. Then again, maybe it was better not to have any association with that phone.

After a moment's hesitation, Raoul handed him the ring, watching the sparkling diamond leave his life forever. A heavy weight left with it. The man took the tiny object and pocketed it. "Just lay low; you should be fine in a few days. It'll be fun to watch this blow up on the news, huh? And sorry again about the girl." He rushed off into the night, leaving Raoul standing by himself.

He trudged toward the payphone, praying that he hadn't just fallen into some perverse trap. He hoped Christine was safe and alive. And that Gavin would answer his call. He hoped that, amongst all this horror, there was some good left in the world. Even if it came in the form of remorseful thugs or murderous guys in masks who fell in love…even if the good didn't make any damn sense…he somehow hoped it existed.

Raoul put change into the phone, dialed the number, and held his breath.

* * *

After Gavin climbed into the dark blue car, he hunched his shoulders and waited for a gunshot. The sound would likely be followed by a permanent darkness as his sorry carcass slumped into the seat. All he could hear was the soft hum of the car engine and the click of a seatbelt. The vehicle turned left at an average speed. Heart still pounding, Gavin blankly stared out the tinted windows. The two men were silent, one driving and the other scribbling something onto a yellow pad of paper. 

Gavin took several deep breaths and ran his hands over his face, feeling dizzy with anxiety. He didn't dare develop any false sense of security or assume that he was going to live through the day. Maybe he never should have gone with the two men. Once the call had been traced, though, there'd been no choice. What was he going to do? Attempt to get away on foot while they chased him in the car?

As the vehicle passed a shopping center, Gavin watched people stroll around in the daylight. The sight seemed almost too normal after weeks spent hiding in shadows and avoiding most other members of the human race. If that was what Erik's entire life had been like, it was really no wonder that the guy was a bit...off sometimes.

The car eventually went down a ramp and entered an underground garage beside a set of dull brick buildings. They were labeled as the administrative offices for some company. When the vehicle came up to a gate, both men took out badges from their shirt pockets and held them up for a security officer. The car pulled through and parked in a lot with very few other automobiles. Nothing about the setting was particularly spectacular, and yet it was also a little eerie.

When the vehicle stopped, Gavin again held his breath. Would they remove him from the car before shooting him? That didn't make a lot of sense...but...maybe they didn't want to get blood on the seats?

The blond-haired man on the passenger side climbed out first and opened the back door. Gavin hesitated before stepping outside, his heart pounding in his ears. He was unable to read either of the men's indifferent eyes. They led him through the dark garage, up a set of concrete stairs, and to a side door of the complex. The interior resembled a normal office...at least in front. There was a polished oak desk and a computer, along with some tables and leather chairs. A coffee pot sat in one corner, and an ugly fake plant sat in another. The two tiny windows had their blinds closed. The building was obviously not their main headquarters.

"Do you want anything to drink?" the dark-haired man asked, startling him.

"Water is fine." He was given a paper cup of water, and the cool liquid felt good on his dry throat. Gavin stared at the men over the rim while drinking, disturbed by the silence.

"We'll have food brought later," said the same man.

"All right."

"Let's sit down, Mr. Lewis." Gavin nodded and followed the man's lead to take a seat across from him at the larger desk. The blond guy disappeared to somewhere in the back. "Are you ready to answer some questions?" He stared Gavin in the eye. "Or do you want to rest or use the bathroom before we begin?"

"Uh. We can start."

"Is there anything you want to say first?"

Gavin was about to reply 'no,' but he realized that this might be his chance to make a bargain. "I want protection," he began. "For my...two friends and I."

"Raoul de Chagny and Christine Daae are listed in your notes."

"Yes. I want them to be safe." There was no way he was going to bring Erik into this. "They may try to call my phone. I'm not exactly sure where they are right now...or if they're okay."

The man nodded. "We'll keep your phone on and return it to you later. You and your friends will be protected while in our custody in exchange for your cooperation. I am going to ask you questions to assess the situation. Honesty will move the process along."

Gavin nodded. It wasn't as though he could hold them to their end of the deal. The man began his long interrogation, always speaking in the same calm tone. Some questions seemed simple and overly obvious. _You're familiar with Christine Daae? _He truly didn't know the answer to others. _On what occasion did Raoul de Chagny first encounter Leonie Neumanns?_

Gavin's heart skipped a beat when the man began delving into the origins of his case. _How did you know of the problems with the company?_ Gavin responded that Christine had called him for help. _How did Christine know?_ Well, she'd seen some of the documents at Raoul's house. The letter, for example. Maybe she was afraid for her friend's safety. Maybe she had a strong conscience.

Luckily, Gavin had been anticipating these questions. He'd been smart enough not to give them the details of Erik's upbringing or of Christine's interactions with the masked man, anything that had no documents to back it up. Still, he was worried that he'd made a mistake somewhere in there.

"Ms. Daae has been missing for some time; it was assumed that foul play was involved. You say she was hiding in fear until you arrived?"

Gavin swallowed, wishing they'd get away from the topic of Christine. So far, he had been able to give semi-truths instead of outright lies. "As far as I know."

"And she phoned you for help?"

"Yes."

"Did she say where she had been that entire time?"

"Not in detail. Just…hiding."

"Has she ever mentioned her kidnapping in the U.S. last year?"

Gavin blinked at the spontaneous question and shifted in the seat. "Yes," he slowly replied. "Just that it was a traumatic event. But she wasn't seriously harmed during it."

The man stared at him. "Your report gives no mention of the kidnappings of Ms. Glouer _or_ Ms. Daae. And yet they were both major events in the last year that pertain to this case."

Gavin did everything in his power to maintain eye contact. "I didn't know enough to make any judgments. Maybe they were distractions by _Falcon_. But my main area of research was the unethical activity of the company. Of the toxins and the cover-ups and the deaths. I didn't have time to look at everything…with being shot at and all…"

The man wrote something down, and Gavin wondered how much they knew about Erik. Assuming she was found alive, Christine would likely be extensively questioned. Gavin was relieved when the guy started asking him about some of his witnesses. That information could at least be backed with the records on the computer disks.

As the sky dimmed, the other man brought in fried fish and some sort of tropical fruit mixture in a plastic cup. The questions finally stopped, and Gavin was left alone. He yawned, barely able to taste the food but glad to be alive and eating. When the men returned, he prepared himself for more questions, feeling a little more energized. He just hoped the food wasn't drugged…

"You can sleep in the back left room," stated the blond man with a quick gesture. "You should find what you need. If there's a problem, say something. This location is only temporary. But you'll be secure for the night." He held out the cell phone; Gavin slowly took it, wondering if the device had been bugged. "You informed the press of your findings." It wasn't a question.

"Yeah," Gavin muttered. "I did." The man gave no response, and Gavin didn't ask how he knew. He turned around and walked toward the left corner of the building. The space was more like a windowless closet than a room, but it did have a clean, white cot. Someone had put a bottle of water and a package of square crackers by his bedside, along with some simple toiletries including a toothbrush. Gavin set his phone down beside them and rested fully-clothed on the bed. He dozed off but never went to sleep, still subconsciously waiting for that final gunshot.

It was a little over an hour later when his phone rang in his ear. He sat straight up and answered, nearly falling back against the wall with relief at the sound of the voice on the other end.

"Thank God!" Raoul exclaimed. "I thought...Where the heck are you?"

"I'm safe, I think," he replied. "Where are you? How's Christine? What happened?"

"I shouldn't say much right now. Can you get help here?"

"I have a feeling that it's already on the way. But...yeah! I'll do whatever I can." He paused. "Is Christine okay?"

"Maybe," Raoul nearly whispered.

"It's just the two of you?"

"Yeah."

Gavin took the hint that it wasn't a good topic. He decided to step in before Raoul asked anything about Erik. The authorities were likely listening. "Listen. We'll talk later. Let me get you help."

"But what about--"

"Let's talk later," Gavin interrupted.

"All right," Raoul replied. "Yeah. Get here fast. Bring…medical help."

Gavin tensed. "All right. I will." With the phone in hand, he got up and left the room to search for assistance. He spotted a man that he didn't recognize at the desk and paused. "Uh. Where are the other two—I need some help. Now. My friend just called."

The man glanced up. "Your friends will receive aid soon. You can see them at a later time." He looked back down as though occupied with something.

Gavin nodded, feeling his stomach muscles tense. There was always the horrible chance that these men had used him to get to Christine and Raoul. But why not just shoot him and keep the phone on? And everything had seemed legitimate so far. Surely, there was some good out there, though, right? Surely one demon of a woman couldn't control everything.

He put the phone back to his ear and spoke to Raoul. "Everything's going to be fine," he stated. "Someone's on the way."

For better or worse, everything was falling into place. And he was only left to wonder…

_Where was Erik?_

* * *

_He _had forced Oliver's arms behind his back while Mrs. Coleman held the cordless phone up to the wretched man's ear, thereby ensuring that the idiot wouldn't be able to hit an emergency button. Sweating and coughing, Oliver told Mrs. Coleman the number. _He _closely watched as she dialed, all the while warning them both that painful consequences would follow if this was not Ms. Neumanns' number. The phone rang; a woman answered. 

_Leonie Neumanns._ He recognized her syrupy voice from sixteen years ago during a telephone conversation to arrange their 'meeting.' His jaw clenched with the knowledge that these people had controlled nearly every aspect of his life. He had to suppress his rage before he prematurely killed Oliver.

A conversation began. There was an odd note of amusement in the woman's voice, especially when she spoke of having Christine. "I have a better idea, Freddie," she began, after Oliver had asked about Christine's location. "Why don't I bring the girl there? It's a perfect place to hide her. I'll keep her sedated and have her carried over. And we can work on our plans for luring the creature. Won't that be nice? Like the old days?"

What if it was a lie? He couldn't tell by her voice. He could not think straight. All he wanted to do was reach through the phone and rip her apart. "Tell her to come," he hissed into Oliver's ear. "Tell her to bring Christine. And to call you when she arrives."

Oliver weakly nodded. "That sounds fine. Bring the girl." The old man winced as his arm was nearly jerked out of its socket. "And make sure to call me when you get here."

"I'll be there soon, Freddie," she murmured.

The phone went dead. Mrs. Coleman lowered the receiver to her side with wide eyes. _His _grip tightened on Oliver's arms, nearly crushing the bones. Oliver moaned, and the girl cried out. "Please stop! You don't have to hurt him. Leonie will bring Christine!"

"And so his death will be less painful," _he_ replied, tilting his head back in thought. _What to do next? How did he strangle that woman and ensure that Christine was unharmed?_

"Please!" Mrs. Coleman cried, continuing to sob as Oliver groaned in pain.

_He_ pushed Oliver away from him and into the wall. The man slid onto the floor, clutching his injured limbs and breathing heavily. She knelt in front of him as though to shield Oliver from further injury. _He_ ignored them both and paced, courses of action running through his mind. He had to know if the woman had his Christine. He had to. He had to.

Why couldn't he think straight! Why did it always feel like tiny parasites were nibbling at his brain? _Because that damned company had destroyed him!_ He wouldn't be a physical and mental catastrophe if not for them! He turned and glared at Oliver, again wanting to tear out his vital organs. The Coleman woman attempted to block _his_ view; the look of horror in her eyes told him that he was a monster.

If Christine was there, none of this would matter. He would be able to think again. His past wouldn't be able to creep into his head and rot his mind. She always brought clarity and peace. Her touch and voice and presence…she was his sanity and joy.

And if they had harmed a hair on her head, he would spend hours torturing them!

He placed his hands against his temples and softly groaned, continuing his insane pacing. Perhaps he was muttering out loud as well; he wasn't sure anymore. He glanced at the trembling Coleman woman. "How long will it take her to get here?" he rasped.

"About an hour," she whispered. Oliver was now staring at the floor with a blank expression.

_He_ knew that Oliver's guards would likely stop Ms. Neumanns at the front gate in reaction to that night's events, especially if she brought her own bodyguards. Still, he kept an eye on the door and occasionally unlocked it and glanced out, watching for an unexpected intrusion. He tested the glass on the windows to see how much force it would take to break them. The hour seemed to last forever. And yet he somehow clung to that last bit of reason that told him Christine might be alive.

Finally, the phone rang. "Answer," he hissed at the woman.

Mrs. Coleman reached out and picked up the receiver. "Hello?" He walked over to listen, which caused her to jerk backwards in fear.

"Get Freddie," Ms. Neumanns ordered, obviously aggravated.

Hands shaking, Mrs. Coleman held the phone up to Oliver's ear again. _He_ wrapped the lasso around Oliver's neck to keep him in his control. "Tell her to enter with Christine," _he_ whispered. "All others are to remain outside. You want a private meeting."

It took Oliver several seconds to speak. "Come in by yourself," he pathetically commanded. "Bring the girl with you…"

Ms. Neumanns laughed. "I'm not coming in by myself, and I'm not bringing the girl with me yet. Unlike you, Freddie, I didn't get this far by being dense."

"Leonie," Oliver muttered in agony. "Just…bring that stupid girl. Stop this."

"Why don't you come out and meet me, dear?"

"I'm…ill," Oliver whispered.

_His_ impatience was growing. "Tell her that you do not trust her," he rasped. "Tell her that you wish for proof of the girl." He tightened the lasso; Oliver choked. "Tell her--"

Leonie spoke again, her voice soft and cold. "Freddie. I know my monster is in there. Can _it_ hear me now? What was its given birth name? We had it on record once, and--I remember! Erik. Hello, Erik. Can you hear me?"

Red colored _his_ vision. He nearly snapped Oliver's neck.

"Shut up!" Oliver coughed. "Keep your damned mouth closed, Leonie!"

"Erik, dear," she continued, ignoring Oliver. _His _fingers flexed in their desire to wrap around her throat and squeeze until her eyeballs popped out of their sockets. "This really has gotten silly, hasn't it? It's gone on for decades. I imagine you're ready for it to end, too. If you don't cooperate, though, I'll have to cut another one of Ms. Daae's fingers off." An inhuman growl escaped his throat. His muscles were wound into tightly-coiled springs, and his vision blurred. The lasso was so taut that Oliver could no longer speak.

"Oh, God," Mrs. Coleman moaned, clutching the sides of her face. "You're killing him! Let him go! Let him go!"

"Erik...Don't be difficult. If you kill Freddie, I'll have Christine's entire hand cut off. And that's just unpleasant. Now be a good boy and let me inside."

This woman's lies had controlled and destroyed his life. _He_ would have to see her eyes to know if she was lying now. But the thought of Christine's limbs being sliced off nearly took what was left of his sanity. The idea of his Christine suffering was more torturous than any act ever inflicted upon him. It was his one lucid thought in the madness. Christine controlled his actions, not the Neumanns woman. Everything he did from this moment on would only be for Christine.

The repulsive wench was correct on one matter, though. He was ready for this to end.

A map of the house formed in his mind, a chart of each possible direction and exit. The darkness outside would be an asset. If he could destroy the power supply, it might be _his _game again, if only for a short while. He finally loosened the lasso so that Oliver could speak. "Tell her to enter," he whispered. "And to bring proof of Christine."

"Come inside," Frederick choked into the receiver. "But give me some sign that you have the girl." His wrinkled face resembled a prune.

"With my men?" she enquired, perhaps holding the phone up for the bodyguards to hear.

"With whoever the hell you want! Just get in here!" Oliver fell back against the wall.

"Thank you, Freddie." She paused. "Erik."


	69. The Rise and Fall

Thank you all for being patient during this busy time and continuing to leave wonderful feedback. I hope you enjoy this chapter. Thanks to _MadLizzy _for helping to keep the story polished and accurate.

**Read and Review!!!**

Four men appeared out of nowhere, emerging from the light haze that had settled near the ground. Or maybe Raoul was too exhausted and downtrodden to notice his surroundings anymore; he hadn't seen two hit men coming up behind him. If not for pure luck, he would have been dead.

All four wore dark suits and were of average height, half invisible as they walked toward him with long, even strides. Raoul stood on the curb and stared at them, one hand still gripping onto the gun and the other clenched into a fist. Although Gavin had assured him that he would be rescued, Raoul wasn't ready to trust anyone. For all he knew, he'd been placed into an elaborate trap that involved Leonie, the thug, Gavin, and these strange men.

But it was almost too elaborate. Why go to all this trouble to set him up?

His throat was dry again; he wished that half-empty bottle of water was nearby. The men stopped walking and stood at a distant angle. One calmly spoke. "Put down your gun, Mr. de Chagny."

Raoul hesitated before setting the pistol on the cracked pavement. It wouldn't do him any good now. "Who are you?" he asked, standing up and holding his empty hands in the air.

"We're with the government," replied the man, flashing a photo ID. "You will be protected while in our custody." The others now approached him and begin to search his clothing, finding nothing but his leather wallet and some pieces of notebook paper. One man picked up the gun, thereby taking his only form of defense.

"You have a female companion?" asked one of the others.

Raoul paused again. They already knew she was with him, likely from the telephone conversation. If he took them to Christine, the men could kidnap her. But he couldn't abandon her in the building; what if she tried to come outside and find him? She was already dehydrated and ill.

"Mr. de Chagny," the man began again. "You and your friend will be safe while in our custody. We received Mr. Lewis' notes on your involvement in the recent occurrences. Your honesty will be needed about your role in the events, but you will be given immunity in return. If you do not know where your companion is, then we will take you to a safe location and attempt to find Ms. Daae through other means."

"I…I do," he finally muttered. If Leonie was this well-prepared, then they were all damned anyway. "She's hiding."

"You can take us to her?"

"Yes."

The strange man nodded. Raoul turned and led them down the empty streets, using the glows of neon signs and streetlights to find his way. The men surrounded him, thereby forming a multi-headed shadow on the walls of the brick buildings. He felt slightly protected, but the horror of the last year had crushed too much of his spirit for him to dare hope. He took them into the renovated building and up the stairs, his heart hammering and his palms sweaty.

Raoul stopped at the entrance to the hallway and closed his eyes. "Please don't hurt her," he whispered.

_Erik wouldn't have taken them to her… _

"She'll be taken care of," the man said, his tone stern but soft.

Raoul walked toward the door and twisted the cold metal knob, afraid of what he would find on the other side. What if someone had already taken her away?

But no. Christine was in the same place that he had left her, slouched against the wall with her eyes closed. Her chest moved up and down with even breaths, and her cheeks still had a little red coloring. One of the men shone a flashlight on her hunched form. She flinched and blinked, before softly crying out and raising a bent arm up in self-defense.

"It's all right, Christine." Raoul knelt down beside her. "I found help."

"We're going to carry you out of here," said one of the men, studying her injured foot. "Medical transportation is on the way."

She continued to look around with wide eyes. "What--?"

"We're okay," said Raoul, putting a hand on her arm and squeezing. "I think Gavin is safe. I just talked to him, and he sounded fine."

"You called him? He's okay?" Her face lit up, and she glanced at the men. Christine then turned her head and mouthed a single word that no one else could see. "Erik?"

He shook his head. "I don't know," he murmured. "I'm sorry." Christine nodded and looked at the floor. He reached out to hug her, and she accepted the embrace, nearly collapsing forward into his arms. "We're going to be fine." She nodded again into his shoulder.

Within five minutes, several more men carried a stretcher into the room. They gently lifted Christine's thin frame and scooted her onto the canvas. Raoul stepped forward to follow them before they could carry her away.

"Mr. de Chagny," said one of the men from earlier, stopping Raoul in his tracks. "You need to come with us for awhile. Ms. Daae will be taken to a secure location, one of our offices, to receive medical attention. She'll be secure, and an assessment will be made of her health. In the meantime, you will answer some questions. You'll be reunited with your friends soon."

"I want to make sure she's safe!" he exclaimed. "How do I know this isn't some kind of setup? How do I know you're not using her?"

"You can see her after you answer some questions."

"But I--"

"You can see her later, Mr. de Chagny."

The man's calmness was infuriating. Raoul went to Christine and took her hand. "I'll see you later, okay? I promise. As soon as possible."

Christine nodded, her mouth set in a grim line. "I…All right. I'll be fine." He couldn't tell whether she trusted these men or was merely resigned to her fate. A single tear fell from the corner of her eye. She leaned back onto the stretcher and closed her lids, a sigh escaping her lips.

Raoul ran his hands over his face and cursed as she disappeared through the doorway.

"She'll be treated well," said the man. "I don't think it will take too much to bring her back to good health. It's a minor injury." He motioned toward the door. "Now let's get you somewhere safe."

Raoul followed them out of the room and down the steps, his gaze fixed on the floor. He was led to a small pine green car in front that he hadn't noticed earlier. The warm air inside the vehicle made him sleepier. After hours of running across hard pavement in the cold, the cushioned seat felt divine. The trip to wherever-the-hell-they-took-him was no more than fifteen minutes, and all he ever remembered in his exhausted haze was passing through several security checkpoints. It was too dark to see much besides the outlines of buildings and bare trees.

Despite his obvious fatigue, the men sat him at a rectangular wooden table beneath fluorescent lights and made him answer question after question. They were always calm, but he sensed slight impatience in their voices. He answered honestly.

_Yes_, he signed documents that he shouldn't have without reading them. He was only thinking of Christine. It was all a cruel game of manipulation; surely there was someone else who could testify to that. _Yes_, his father was wrong. His brother had messed up. And he had done some very stupid things. But they weren't bad or evil people. They'd been caught in a mess that was too big for them. _Yes_, he would help however he could.

Raoul lied once.

"Have you ever made any connection between your kidnapping nearly one year ago and your father's company?"

Raoul inhaled. He knew that Gavin had tried to keep Erik out of the report. Was Erik still a wanted man? Or was he a nothing but a ghost and rumor now? A part of Raoul wanted to see the masked man behind bars; he still believed that Erik had taken revenge way too far. If everyone took the law into their own hands that way, the world would be a messed up place. And he still hated Erik for all the pain of the last year. Raoul would never forgive him for some things.

But…Christine. It always came back to Christine, didn't it? He could never live with himself if he broke her heart.

"No. I don't know much about that," Raoul finally replied. "The last year has been really strange. I don't know if anything's connected." The man stared at him for several seconds before nodding and jotting something down on a notepad. Raoul took a drink of water and rubbed his blurry eyes. "Is this all going to be on the news?" he asked. "Will everyone know we're alive?"

"We'll keep it quiet for as long as possible. I imagine your survival will eventually be known unless you want extreme measures taken to keep it silent."

"No. I don't want that." He paused. "How's Christine doing?"

"She's being given fluids. Her ankle is sprained, and she's suffering from exhaustion. I'm sure she'll make a full recovery, though."

"There are some people back home who care about her." Raoul's throat tightened; he knew exactly what he was doing. "I don't know how to contact them. Maybe someone could release a statement to the media saying that she's alive and safe."

The man tilted his head. "That information will likely come out within the next several days."

"The sooner the better."

The man continued to study him. "There's a lot of activity tonight, and it's slowly trickling into the news. There was a rumor of you both being sighted at a restaurant earlier. But we'd prefer for it to remain a rumor until some of this is sorted out."

"All right. You won't do anything to stop the rumor?"

"No." Raoul nodded in thanks. "But Mr. de Chagny?" He looked up again as the man's tone became almost sympathetic. "You will hear a lot of stories over the next few months, some of them very unfavorable to you and your family. You will hear unpleasant truths and unfair lies about your father, brother, and possibly yourself. I'd advise you to take a deep breath and prepare for it."

"I understand."

* * *

Frederick's mind drifted throughout the night, hopping around to better times and places. The mental journeys helped to numb the agony that had overtaken his aging body. Whenever he returned to reality, he could see the creature pacing back and forth. The yellow eyes glared at him, condemning him. He could feel Emily's hand on his right arm and was vaguely aware that she was speaking to the monster. Had he been in his right mind, Oliver would have told her that it was useless to try and rationalize with the cold-blooded creature. Sick and defeated, Frederick waited to die. 

At some point during the hour that they were waiting for Leonie to arrive, Frederick felt his mind wander to nearly four decades earlier. In his senility, he forgot the hell that he was in. He went back to a better beginning, a place of youth and ingenuity and wealth. The sounds of rich violin music and clinking silverware filled his ears, and he could smell buttered croissants and fine wine. He could hear laughter and gossip. Tailored suits and colorful evening gowns dotted his vision. Oliver smiled to himself.

"_Come on, Louis," said Richard Firmin. "We need some of that old money in there. We need the Count de Chagny to reclaim his title, eh?"_

_Louis rubbed his left temple. "I'm in. I've said it twice already. Do you want me to stand on the table and shout it? I don't think I've had enough to drink for that yet."_

"_Well, you could show some enthusiasm!" exclaimed Frederick from across the table. "This is going to make for some prosperous times. And you look like you're sucking on a lemon."_

_The Count rolled his eyes. _"_We've barely started building the plants. I'm not going to get _that _excited." _

"_Frederick!" called James Lawrence, trying to speak over the noise. He was a little younger and less stately than the others. "Where's our _N_? We're going to end up being _FALCO._" _

"_She likes to be fashionably late, James. She's a classy woman." Oliver grinned. "A smart woman, too."_

_Louis chuckled and took a drink. "I'm sure you're only after the lady for her intelligence."_

_Frederick leaned back into the chair. "Ah. The Count is jealous because his fiancee resembles a dried-up librarian." _

_Louis frowned and turned red as the others laughed. He didn't saying anything else, never really being one for long confrontations. Frederick started to tease his friend a bit more but was interrupted by the sight of his guest. _

_Her blonde hair was clipped stylishly short and curled near her ears. There was a light step to her high-heeled walk and an intense glint in her eyes. Frederick was glad to have run into her again, to show her that he'd made something of himself and invite her to join them in their venture. He thought that she might add some color to the company. _

"_Leonie." He stood, becoming a bit more dignified. "Glad you could make it."_

"_Freddie," she replied with a smile, letting him take her gloved hand and guide her to a chair. "Thank you for inviting me."_

"_Freddie," James softly mimicked. Frederick gave him a discreet sneer before introducing everyone and stepping back. _

"_It's nice to meet you all!" she exclaimed, eyes flashing. "And Louis de Chagny. The Count de Chagny, correct? How exciting!"_

"_Oh. Just call me Louis."_

_She tilted her head, still smiling. "Well, all right, Louis. If I had a noble title, I think I'd keep it." Louis chuckled._

_Light conversation drifted around the table, five deeper voices mingling with the higher pitched feminine voice. The banter of earlier died down, and the discussion became more formal as they detailed Ms. Neumanns of their plans. She nodded and occasionally commented, but Frederick could tell she was displeased. Her lip occasionally twitched downwards, and her eyes were bored._

_He took her hand again. "Let's dance. I'm tired of sitting around here." Leonie shrugged, and he pulled her onto the floor with the other couples. A faster piece was playing. "So what do you think? They're good guys. Dull sometimes. But they know what they're doing."_

"_I don't want to be bored," she said, settling an arm around him. Her long lavender gown swished back and forth. "I don't want dull meetings and contracts. I'm tired of it. And I'm not going to sit around and serve tea and cake to the rest of you." _

"_You won't! We'll be in charge. Forget all of them. They'll handle the details, and we'll make the decisions. Come on, love. We need you."_

"_You need my money."_

"_No. I want you in there."_

"_I know what you want," she replied. _

_Frederick winced as she roughly stepped on his foot with the sharp heel of her shoe. The pain was numbed by the fact that her hand was traveling down his waist. "And we'll have everything we want," he managed to choke out. _

_Her mouth twisted to the side. "You promise I'll have fun, Freddie? I'll get to make decisions?"_

"_I promise."_

_She backed away from him. "Very well. I'll sign on. But I'm going to put in some conditions. I want control of certain things."_

"_That sounds fine_. _Take control of whatever you want." He didn't give a damn about conditions at that moment. "She's on!" Frederick exclaimed as he pulled her back to the table. "We're _Falcon_!" A soft round of applause followed. They all shook hands and took a drink of wine, and the men smoked cigars and talked about the possibilities. _

_It was the cliché of lavishness, of rich people laying claims to the world. _

_And Frederick was enjoying every minute of it. It was what he'd dreamed about since growing up in a home where he was frequently given the hand-me-down clothes of his cousins. He finally stood and took Leonie's hand again, alcohol and desire clouding his mind. "We're going out for awhile. To celebrate."_

"_How about a toast before the celebration?" said Lawrence, unsuccessfully trying to hide a smirk. He raised his glass. "To _Falcon!_"_

"_To _Falcon_!" _

"To _Falcon_," Oliver murmured to himself, smiling in his blissful memory. The phone eventually startled him out of his haze. As the monster held a noose around his neck, he was forced to speak to Leonie. She somehow managed to convince the ogre to let her come inside with the men. Emily hung up the phone. The creature loomed over Frederick as he slid down the wall and into a useless heap.

"Leonie is coming inside!" Emily exclaimed. "She'll know everything."

"And so he is no longer of use to me," replied the monster, its eerie voice buzzing in Frederick's ear. "Mr. Oliver is very disposable now."

"No!" Emily cried, tears choking her voice. She tugged at the lasso, digging her fingers beneath the noose in a futile attempt to loosen it. Frederick wanted to go back to his memory. _At least the women still love me…they always did, didn't they?_ He coughed as his airway was squeezed. The colors of the room spun together, and his throat burned. "Please!" In his fog, Oliver could still hear Emily screaming. "Please don't do this! Please! Stop! Stop!"

"I will not torture him," replied the creature, bending forward. "It will be quick and painless." Oliver stared upwards, the yellow eyes nearly hypnotizing him. "You took everything. _Everything! _Your death will be merciful compared to what I have been through."

Frederick could say nothing. His hatred had faded to resignation, and he felt no desire to deny the accusations. They were a billion miles beyond apologies, and Oliver despised the sadistic fiend too much to be 'sorry.' But perhaps he regretted that it had ever gotten this far...Yes, he regretted that it had come to this.

"Don't kill him!" Emily screamed.

"He is worthless! He is unworthy of anyone's concern. He is a vile, despicable wretch! And he does not care about you, you idiot girl! He would not care if I sliced your hand off at this moment! And if all were just, he would be tortured. He would be beaten and kicked and maimed and raped for ten endless years! And that would be justice! And I shall never have that! I shall never have _anything _because everything is taken from me! I shall have nothing in the end, won't I? _Nothing because of them! They took her from me!_"

Oliver was no longer able to comprehend the tirade after that. He felt as though he were underwater and listening to loud, shrill noise. He thought Emily spoke again but was never sure.

And then there was silence. Frederick wondered if he had died.

A pinching pain in his right arm brought him back to reality. He looked down to see a needle sinking into his flesh. "What—?" Oliver managed to choke out, before finally falling into darkness.

* * *

"Surround the house," Leonie murmured. Frederick's bodyguards obeyed, perhaps sensing that something was very wrong inside the home by this point. She was disgusted and amused by the terrible security; Freddie really deserved to be tortured to death for this mess. Maybe the monster had cut off a few of _his _fingers by now. 

Her company was taking its last breaths, and this was to be her final stand. After receiving Frederick's call, Leonie had pulled all her valuables and luggage together in case she needed to make a quick getaway afterwards. She had some possessions hidden in storage within various countries. She'd kept enough foreign bank accounts open to keep her wealthy for a long time, including some in more hostile nations. _Do you want the secrets of western chemical compounds? Do you want access codes for certain government computers? Then keep my accounts open, dear. _

A semiautomatic pistol was tucked into her leather handbag, a Beretta Cheetah. The custom grips on the gun were natural ivory; she'd accepted nothing less. After readying herself in record time, she'd gathered what she could of the men and ordered them to Freddie's house. (Well, one was given the special assignment of procuring a certain object for her.) Anyone who could catch or kill her monster would be offered a large sum of money, maybe even the entire company. Of course, they didn't know that the entire corporation would come crashing down.

Perhaps she should have escaped that night, hopped on a plane and left the mess behind her. But knowing the exact location of her creature was far too tempting.

She was still suspicious about the death of de Chagny and the Daae girl. The man that had supposedly killed them left Raoul's ID and a photograph of the ring at a designated location. The moron had disappeared with the actual diamond. It really didn't matter if they were dead now, though. That one mysterious boy was likely doing the most damage, anyway. They'd finally traced him to an airline ticket. Gavin Lewis. A journalism student slowly making his way into the wide, wide world.

How very sweet.

If she ever got the chance, she'd pay Mr. Lewis' family a visit someday.

Whatever the case, it was essential for the monster to think that Christine was alive. If he found out that the girl was dead, he'd be hell to deal with. Leonie wanted him squirming beneath her fingertips.

After half of the men formed a circle around the home, the others approached the entrance, keeping their flashlights poised on the front door. It opened with a soft squeak, revealing a deceptive brightly-lit, warm room. A bodyguard lay unconscious on the ground in the entryway, a red rope burn around his neck. Leonie clicked her tongue. Her heels tapped against the floor as they walked into the living area. She made whistling and kissing noises, as though calling a pet dog. "Come here, Erik."

Yes, it was very appropriate that she be here now. She'd controlled the rest of the creature's life, from birth to prison to his streak of vengeance. It was only fitting that she decided his day of death. And she even felt some strange sort of maternal affection for him, just as she did for the company…some attachment to her creations of many decades. And both were going to die soon. It was a little sad, really.

They neared Frederick's bedroom. A light shone from underneath the door, forming a scalene triangle on their side. With their guns aimed, the men opened the door.

The room was empty, and the carpet was stained with wine and a few drops of blood. Her eyes scanned over the area, checking each corner for unwanted company. Her heart raced with excitement; she'd missed the adrenaline-spawned euphoria.

"Open the closet," Leonie ordered. Two men obeyed, drawing in their breaths as they looked inside. Leonie glanced over their shoulders. Freddie and Emily were lying on their backs beside each other, their eyes closed and their bodies still. "Are they dead?"

One of the men bent down and checked the pulses. "No. Unconscious. Drugged, maybe."

She knelt and lightly slapped Freddie's left cheek. His eyes remained closed. "You're pathetic," she muttered, before standing up straight again. She would have enjoyed ending Emily's life right there, but Freddie's bodyguards would have become alarmed by such actions. The monster had to be her sole focus.

"Erik!" She raised her voice. "If you want that little girl to survive, you'd better come out here. All I have to do is place a phone call, and another finger disappears." She pulled a grotesque object out of her pocket and smirked. Obtaining a finger wasn't that difficult for one of her men. She didn't know if it'd been cut off a corpse or if some girl was now walking around with a missing digit. "Be a good boy and come out. This isn't a game."

Silence was the response, and the men uneasily shifted. Several of them did a quick check of the other rooms but found nothing on the first floor. Leonie clenched her jaw, becoming annoyed and impatient. "Maybe he's upstairs."

"That's just mostly storage," one man replied. "There's a pool table. Some file cabinets and a balcony."

"Plenty of places to hide, then." They walked to the bottom of the spiraled stairs and looked upwards. Leonie flipped on a light over the steps. "Erik! I'm going to make that call if you don't come out. Do you really want her to suffer? Or perhaps you get some…pleasure from seeing Ms. Daae in pain. Is that it? You are a sadistic fellow."

The lights in the house all went out at that moment, leaving them only with the flashlights. The men effectively pointed them in various directions, keeping their surroundings illuminated. Leonie grabbed onto the iron railing to steady herself.

"_Proof. You have none."_

She blinked as the lovely tenor voice echoed in her ear. It sounded like a little radio was playing inside her mind, and a second passed before she could reclaim her thoughts. Leonie held up the finger again, unsure of whether he could actually see it.

The voice chuckled. "_That is not proof. You will show me Ms. Daae. You will bring her to me. And then I will come out._"

"It would be difficult for me to have her carried in here with all the blood," she replied, running the dismembered finger over in her palm. Several of the men gave her curious glances. "But I do have Raoul's identification. Christine is wearing a ring with an expensive diamond, isn't she? She won't be able to wear it if all her fingers are gone, though."

"_There is no diamond ring!_"

She'd hit a nerve. Interesting. "Well, maybe the young man gave it to her. Maybe they became reengaged. Isn't that nice?"

Silence.

"Who are you talking to?" asked one of her men. All of them appeared alarmed.

"He's talking to me," she replied. "It's a sort of ventriloquism. Block the voice out if he tries to speak to you. He could be anywhere." She glanced up the stairs again, unable to tell if someone was looking down upon them. "Go up. Keep an arm raised in the air. Watch for that damned noose."

They ascended, their weight causing the stairs to creak. Several men pointed their flashlights on the landing; the smell of dust and aging wood hung in the air. Leonie spoke to her monster again. "It's a pity that I didn't know of your resistance to death, Erik. I could have used your strength throughout the years. I'm sure you'd do a lot for a pat on the head and a scratch behind the ears, wouldn't you?"

They reached the top. The pool table stood in the middle, along with a pinball machine, a giant television, and other extravagant forms of entertainment. There were also some older toys and games, likely leftover from the Oliver family's younger years. Several doors and windows were positioned on both sides of the main room. A white double door at the back led to a balcony, and a shiny black wet bar sat to the side.

"I'll make it quick," she gently continued, taking a different angle. She directed several of the men to stay by the stairs so that the creature couldn't enter or leave. "Just two quick shots in the back of the head. Painless and kind. Think of it as a sign of my appreciation for you. No one else gave me such a challenge in my life. You're the only thing that was never boring, Erik."

"_I was never properly compensated for the position of your jester."_

She laughed. "You can't tell me you didn't enjoy torturing all those poor people. You had far too much fun tearing their bodies apart." Leonie took out her cellular phone, curious as to how far she could go. "I'm going to call and see how Christine is. I'm done playing." She began to randomly dial, daring him to let her go through with it.

"_I will come out, Ms. Neumanns._"

"Wonderful." She lowered the phone to her side and waited in the silence. A crashing noise echoed throughout the room as something shattered against the farthest wall. At least two of the men fired their guns in the direction of the sound and a rectangular shadow. They failed to hit a target. "What was it?" she asked, the cacophony ringing in her ears.

"A vase. Someone must have accidentally knocked it over or something."

Leonie knew that she was being mocked.

"_You will kill Christine after I am dead_," whispered the creature, its voice floating on all sides of her. "_Your eyes are soulless and hollow. You would never exchange her life for mine; you will torture and murder her once you have found me. You are predictably vicious and unmerciful. And that is your exploitable flaw, Ms. Neumanns." _

Hatred burned within her. "Search the entire room and kill him," she commanded. "He's nothing but a rabid animal." Leonie stood back with her arms crossed, waiting for one of them to find the yellow-eyed demon.

"Ms. Neumanns?" One of her younger men came running up the stairs, and the others allowed him to pass. In the glow of the flashlights, she could see that his face was contorted with worry.

"What? I thought you were told to wait at the bottom."

"Yes. But I was listening to the radio," he whispered, nervously glancing at the others. "I head something earlier and wanted to check again. And it's…it's all over the news."

"What's all over the news?"

"Everything! You and Mr. Oliver. And they're talking about these kids in some country who don't have arms and legs; they're saying it's…"

"The company," Leonie finished, looking into the distance. "I see." A cold and honest realization settled upon her. She'd thought at least a week would pass before all the connections were made. But it was all falling apart at this very moment. How long would it take to get to the airport? Or maybe to a boat. The police might be waiting there, though. Could she dye her hair? Change clothing?

"_You will not leave_," said the voice, interrupting her thoughts.

"Nor will you," she murmured.


	70. When All is Lost

As always, thank you for your wonderful comments. I hope you enjoy this fairly tense chapter. And a big thanks to MadLizzy for editing and inspiring an idea that made the chapter far more interesting, horrific, and awesome.

**Read and Review!!! **

It was a game of control.

And _he _nearly lost at the outset.

There was a moment that night when he might have killed anybody. Mrs. Coleman was even in peril during those frantic seconds when the horror of his life exploded in the center of his mind, every atrocity committed against him and the massacres in which he had been a participant. How could he do anything but snap the neck of Frederick Oliver?

_He_ didn't remember half of what he said during his rant to Mrs. Coleman. Something had nearly broken inside of him as the words flew out of his mangled mouth. "No justice," he'd repeated, preparing to tighten the lasso. "No justice. Nothing. Nothing!"

She'd stared up at him with tear-filled eyes, continuing to beg and plead. "Let Mr. Oliver go to prison, then," she choked out. "Let him be arrested. That's fair. Don't kill him!"

"He will find a way out of it!"

"No! He can't even think anymore. He's sick. Please don't hurt him! He's a frail old man!"

He had seconds to make a decision.

Christine.

Christine would still keep him if he killed Oliver, wouldn't she? If she was still alive, Christine would understand. He could picture her staring with pity at the television screen when she got the news. _Poor, unhappy Erik finally got what he wanted. He got his revenge._

And if he didn't kill Oliver, he could see…something akin to pride in her eyes.

Oliver's pallid face was blank as he stared at the floor, his eyelids closing for longer and longer periods of time. There was no battle now, no glamorous confrontation. A hideous monster was fighting against a pathetic elderly man. The whole thing suddenly seemed unbearably empty.

"You will both go to sleep," _he_ stated, pulling out a syringe. He refused to even acknowledge the decision to himself, for the thought might anger him.

"What?" Mrs. Coleman took a step backwards.

He clenched the syringe, embers of hatred still flickering within him. "I cannot have you screaming and pointing to where I am!" he snapped. "You will sleep now." He stuck the needle into Oliver's arm. The girl yelped as Oliver passed out onto the floor. As he stood and approached her, Mrs. Coleman appeared ready to run for the door. "I will not play cat and mouse with you. You will go to sleep with the needle, or I can use the lasso. And the lasso…the lasso is not a hundred percent accurate between death and unconsciousness, you see. Mistakes have happened. I would suggest the needle."

She hesitated and glanced down at Oliver. Before she could move, he grabbed her wrist. Mrs. Coleman cried out again and shuddered, obviously repulsed by his death's skin. Without a word, he injected the sedative into her vein. After catching her beneath the arms during her collapse, he carried her into the closet. He roughly dragged Oliver inside and dropped the wretch beside her, finding it disgusting to even touch the man.

He didn't have time to think about his actions. A medley of voices sounded from the distance, and he knew that Ms. Neumanns would arrive soon. The house was likely surrounded. Lasso in hand, he darted out of the bedroom and strangled the bodyguard in the living area unconscious. He was barely able to dive into the empty dining area before the front door opened.

As Ms. Neumanns and her men entered the home, he crept into a shadowed corner and watched them go directly into Oliver's bedroom. When all backs were turned, he rushed upstairs. If he were going to survive the night, he would need to destroy the lights.

The house was larger than it appeared on the outside, giving him a great deal of space to run through and manipulate. The upstairs was composed of one main recreational area and many smaller rooms, and he noticed that the rooms were connected to each other. He could dodge from one place to the next, silent and unnoticed as he hid behind all the objects of luxury that Oliver had collected over the years. If worse came to worse, there was always the balcony.

He finally discovered the main panel and shut off the electricity just as they began to come up the stairs. He destroyed several of the wires and switches with the knife; it would take them at least a half hour to turn it back on. Throughout the affair, Ms. Neumanns continued to demean and insult him. When the vile woman mentioned Christine, he always tensed, wondering if her words were lies or horrid truths. Still, he kept his composure and fought to keep his sanity.

Ms. Neumanns was still attempting to call him out as she walked up the stairs. Now that the house was wrapped in darkness, he chose to speak to her, demanding proof of Christine. The act gave him an upper hand. He could see her; she couldn't see him. For the most part, her mind was strong enough to resist his voice. Then again, most women succumbed to his voice because of uncontrollable emotions and longings. And Ms. Neumanns seemed to lack those.

Several times, he attempted to read her eyes but found it difficult. If she were lying, she did not have the remorse and uncertainty that liars normally possessed. Her eyes were cold and impassive.

The ownerless finger had disturbed him. If it belonged to Christine, someone would suffer dearly for causing her such pain. But it was still not enough proof to bring him out of hiding.

The mention of the diamond ring, however, nearly sent him over the edge.

_His _Christine would not wear a diamond ring. She had no diamond ring; she would not wear one. He refused to think on the matter any longer. If the wench mentioned it again, _he _would jump down and rip out her vocal cords.

They ventured upstairs. Even with the flashlights, the men could not keep every corner illuminated. _He_ kept to the sides, occasionally forming strange shadows upon the wall or disturbing objects, toying with them. He was careful to keep his presence obvious only to her, hoping that the men would eventually deem Ms. Neumanns insane for hearing a disembodied voice.

She continued to insult, patronize, and mock him. In return, he played with her mind. He would never bargain with her. He would never calmly kneel at her feet as two bullets were planted into his brain.

Some of the men began to whisper that this search was inane, that the monster had likely left long ago. The moment of interest came when of the younger men came racing up the stairs to speak with Ms. Neumanns. _He_ listened to the short and quiet conversation between them, feeling his heart give a strange jump. So Mr. Lewis' story had successfully reached the media. He wondered if the young man were still alive.

Ms. Neumanns gnawed on her lip, looking ready to kill the messenger. "_You will not leave_," he stated, knowing that she was beginning to form a plan of escape.

"Nor will you," she replied.

If he could get her by herself, the game would be over. Physically, the woman was no match for him. He would have her wrapped in the lasso before she could blink.

"I don't think he's in here." One man finally dared to say what the rest were thinking. "Maybe he was earlier, but…"

"He's in here!" she snapped. "I heard him. Did you think it would be easy to kill him? Are you that stupid?" The frustration in her voice pleased him. She knew that precious time was ticking by, that all was not in her control. She would have to make a choice soon.

"Erik!" she yelled, staring at the ceiling. "I'll have her killed. I swear! Show your repulsive face!"

He started to come back with another insult but stopped. He remained silent.

"We should leave," said the younger man.

She roughly pushed him to the side and unwisely stepped into the middle of the room. Had there not been so many armed men, he might have attempted to throw the lasso. "Do you want to know what else they're doing to her?" she asked. "Should I explain in exquisite detail what she's going through? I keep my poor men so busy that they don't get to see many women. I'm sure Christine is keeping them occupied."

Rage overtook his being. Every muscle tensed with the desire to leap forward and rip her apart. He forced his back against the frigid wall and closed his eyes, trying to find sanity. Ms. Neumanns wanted him to jump out screaming and fighting like a wild animal. He needed control. Christine. His death would do nothing to save her. He had to live for her. He could not die now.

"Don't you understand what I'm saying?" she sweetly asked. "Don't you understand what's happening to little Christine? Or maybe you don't. She's probably never let you touch her. Is that right, Erik?"

Nothing would have satisfied him more that ripping her tongue and eyes out and watching as the blood poured from her face. His jaw and hands were clenched, and there was now enough built-up rage inside of him to slaughter everyone in the room. Still, he remained silent.

"What's he saying?" asked one of the men.

She ignored him. "Erik? Do you want her to be tortured to death? You'd play with her life like this?"

All but several of the men had stopped searching and were staring at her. Ms. Neumanns continued to wait, desperately gazing around the room. A sigh of anger escaped her lips.

"Let's go back downstairs," she stated. "He's not here any longer."

"How the hell would he get back downstairs? It's blocked off!"

She glared at the outspoken man. "I don't know. How does he do anything? He's a freak of nature."

The men appeared relieved as they headed back downstairs, their shoes clunking against the steps without grace or stealth. _He _was given a moment to breathe in the silence, knowing that one of his goals had been accomplished. Only Ms. Neumanns was certain of his presence.

He looked through one of the circular upstairs windows to see if he had any view of the front yard. It was too dark to see anything but an occasional silhouette or headlight. Christine was nowhere in sight. Soft bits of conversation from downstairs caught his attention, and he leaned into listen without being seen. The men were speaking.

"They're saying it's all over the news now. The television. The Internet. Just type in a search for _Falcon _and look at the crap that comes up. It'll probably make the front page of the papers by tomorrow."

"We need to get out of the country. Why the hell are we still here?"

"Yeah. How long before the cops arrive?"

And then Ms. Neumanns spoke, her voice bitter. "Hasn't someone figured out how to turn the lights on yet?"

"It's going to take some time," replied one of the men. "Too much time. Oliver's bodyguards are beginning to get suspicious about the entire thing; one of 'em might have called the police. We need to get out of here before we're shot or arrested."

She rubbed a hand through her hair. "I know that."

"Forget about the freak. Maybe he wasn't even here."

"He was here! I heard him several times. He's playing with us. He's waiting…"

An invisible clock was ticking down to the end of the confrontation. Some of the men, perhaps Frederick's guards, were already heading out the door. _He_ knew it would be a disaster if he had to race outside after Ms. Neumanns and deal with her on open territory. And he could not let her leave. He attempted to take control of the situation.

"Ms. Neumanns." She turned around as he whispered into her ear. When no one else was looking, he let her see the yellow glow of his two eyes at the top of the stairs, before quickly disappearing again. "I will follow you wherever you go," he continued. "Erik is everywhere. And he will win. He is far more intelligent than you, Ms. Neumanns." _He_ laughed madly, enjoying her expression of violent indignation.

She hesitated. She could not stand to lose this game, and he understood this feeling well. He understood that a single-minded need for revenge and victory could take precedent even over one's life.

"It is I who aided in destroying you, Ms. Neumanns," he whispered. "I have already won, you see. Your company will be dust by morning. And you will be dust soon after. A few weeks underground will leave your face resembling mine. And perhaps they will bury you in the ground that you poisoned."

"He's upstairs!" she shouted, briskly walking toward the winding steps. "I heard him! I saw him at the top. He spoke to me. Go up there and kill him. Torture him first!"

Oliver's bodyguards backed away. "We're done, Ms. Neumanns. It's time to leave. Mr. Oliver needs medical help, and this whole search is pointless."

"I'll have all of you shot," she retorted. He saw conflict in her eyes as she swallowed.

"I shall enjoy finding you," _he_ continued. "Perhaps I shall wait until you are sitting in a wheelchair, old and decrepit and unable to run from me."

It sent her over the edge. "Go up there and kill him!" She reached into her purse. "I have three airplane tickets. Whoever kills the creature comes with me. I have money in other countries. You'll live in luxury no matter what happens to the company. Isn't that nice? If you can cut his head off and bring it to me, I'll give you my entire fortune."

She appeared slightly insane now. Or perhaps the woman had always been mad. Perhaps she'd simply learned to wear a disguise of sanity and poise over her lunacy.

Six of her men came up with her this time, dogs accustomed to following and protecting their master. He still could not fight them all at once. If he had been completely insane, he might have taken on the challenge. But…a bit of his mind remained, and he wished to hold onto it.

The men searched again, wildly running from room to room with their guns aimed. He had a close call when one man unexpectedly entered his area and quickly ducked behind an old oak dresser. Little porcelain ballerinas were lined up in a row on top of it, each one in a different costume and pose. Either he or the man jiggled the bureau, and a figurine in a green dress slid off and shattered on the floor. Its tiny head rolled to near his shoe, and two blank blue eyes stared up at him. _He _prepared to fight, but the other man hesitated, shone his flashlight across the room, and left.

Ms. Neumanns attempted a different approach with her verbal torment. "Christine is dead now, Erik. She was tortured to death because you refused to come out. She suffered for your disobedience. Why don't you end this now? You don't have anything to lose."

Her words sent a cold shudder through him; there was something especially malicious in her tone. He couldn't believe it if he wanted to keep any part of his mind. If Ms. Neumanns offered undeniable proof, though, the woman would get to see the brutal, bloodthirsty monster that she so desperately sought.

He grew tired of hide-and-seek. Standing at a distance, he startled one man by hitting him on the back with the lasso and whispering a nonsensical phrase into his ear. The man whirled around and fired the gun at empty air, hands shaking. His eyes were wide, and his forehead was shiny with perspiration. He blankly stared into the darkness.

Ms. Neumanns turned to look at him, mouth twisted in rage. "What the hell are you doing?"

"It's…I felt…" He rubbed his hands over his damp face. "Nothing! Never mind. I'm done! Screw this. You're obsessed. There's nothing up here!" He was wildly waving the gun around in the air as he spoke. "There's nothing up here but a bunch of crap!" He kicked one of the wooden pool table legs with his foot, uttering several obscenities and shaking his head. As he started to head for the stairs, Ms. Neumanns waved her hand toward him. One of the other men shot the raving man two times. He fell to the ground face-first, blood trickling out of his back.

_Five men to go. _

"He's up here," Ms. Neumanns murmured. "I know he is."

He pondered how much effort it would take to kill them all. Anything to find Christine and save her from whatever hell she was in. He could discreetly murder them one by one. Or all at once in an ambush. Which would be more successful?

He had little time to think about it.

Sirens wailed far off in the distance, simultaneously hollow and high-pitched. All glanced up and listened to the last notes of the night's symphony. Ms. Neumann's fingers curled, and her jaw tightened. He saw a brief glint of fear in her eyes; she knew it would be over soon.

"We should leave," said one of the men, gripping his gun. "Now. There's no more time for this."

She hesitated, her top lip trembling. "Yes," the woman finally muttered, staring into the distance. "Yes. Let's go. Let's run. Find the car. We'll leave the country." She glared at the ceiling as though _he _were somewhere up there. "Maybe the police will shoot the freak. I suppose that's entirely too much to hope for, though, isn't it? Probably."

"Let's just get the hell out of here."

As they took a step toward the stairs, he attacked. Ms. Neumanns would not leave.

He swiftly grabbed the front man by the neck and pulled the lasso taut. _Snap!_ There was no time to both show mercy and survive. There was no other way to play this game. The man's flashlight hit the ground as he fell, and the light was extinguished. Someone fired a panicked shot, and _he_ ducked to the side. "Kill him!" he heard the woman holler. "Shoot him!"

One man briefly caught sight of _him_, and a pistol was aimed at the center of his chest. _He_ moved in time to hear a bullet fly past his ear and grabbed the shooter with the lasso. Again, he broke the neck. The three remaining men stood with their guns pointed, sweating and breathing heavily as they searched the dark. Ms. Neumanns took several steps away from the chaos.

"Only death awaits those who stay," he hissed into the men's ears in the most horrible voice imaginable. "Will you die tonight for no reason?"

'Kill him!" she screamed. "What are you standing there? What are you doing? Kill him!"

"I will kill you if you remain here," he continued, crouching low. "Or she will kill you once she is done with you. You are merely the means to her end. You know that is so."

The sirens were growing louder. Clutching his gun, one man finally turned and raced down the stairs. The second man fired one last pointless shot into the dark before running after him. The third followed. Perhaps a fight to the death was no longer so alluring.

And now Ms. Neumanns had no more pets to play with.

The woman had stopped yelling seconds ago. A door quickly opened and closed to the side of him, and _he_ whirled around to look for her. The cold gust of air indicated that she had gone outside. Was she going to attempt to jump off the balcony? One malformed lip curved upward in amusement as he headed for the white double doors.

He approached and slowly twisted the golden handle. He opened the door halfway, darting to the side in time to avoid being shot.

"No. You'd never make it that easy on me, would you?" She stood in a far corner, leaning against the metal railing and holding a small pistol. The moon and some remote lights from the front yard dimly illuminated them. A red or blue light occasionally flashed in the distance. The smell of pine hung in the air. "You've never made anything easy on me. One constant headache after another…" She shot at him two more times, hitting the brick wall instead.

He stayed to the side, knowing he would have to seize the gun without killing her. "You are alone now, Ms. Neumanns. No one to hide behind or blame. And I will tear off each limb until you tell me where she is. And I will leave what is left of your body for the authorities to find."

She stared at him as he finally stepped out. Her elbows were propped on the white railing, and the gun was pointed downwards. "You're taller than I thought. You didn't appear so tall in your prison cell. Then again, you were practically curled up in a little ball, hiding your face from the other inmates."

He kept a careful eye on the pistol. "After everyone knows of your deeds, I imagine that you will be treated even better than I was. How will they enjoy an armless, legless prisoner, I wonder? How will they treat someone as defenseless as an infant?"

"Didn't you already cut off poor Gilles' arms? I thought you were more imaginative than that."

"My creativity fades with age, I fear. There are only so many appendages that can be removed from the human body." Some of the sirens had stopped, and he guessed that the property would soon be overrun with authorities. He hoped the lingering bodyguards and unconscious Oliver would keep them busy for a short while. He prepared to dive forward and grasp her with the lasso.

She stood up straight and softly laughed. "Did you ever really think I'd let you touch me?" Again, she attempted to shoot him. Her aim was poor, though, and the bullet disappeared into the night. "Did you really think I'd go to prison? I have dignity. I know when it's time to bow out. But you choose to pathetically continue on. She would have been so much better off without you, dear." Ms. Neumanns smiled and winked at him. "One more shot left. Goodnight, Erik."

She moved the gun, and he ducked to the side. Ms. Neumanns held the pistol up to her temple and put a finger over the trigger. He hurled the lasso in the direction of her hand. Within a split second, there was a gunshot, a white flash of light, and a cracking noise. The lasso wrapped around her wrist, breaking the bone, but he thought it was too late. She'd shot herself before he could get to her.

No.

Not quite too late.

Ms. Neumanns stumbled backwards with a blank expression, eyes wide with shock and mouth in a silent 'o.' Blood poured down her cheek, streaming onto her perfectly-pressed clothes and into her hair. She'd shot herself in the right side of her face.

The gun dropped out of her injured hand, and he scooped it up. He checked the pistol and saw that she'd erred; there was still one round remaining. The woman clutched the sides of her head. Her mouth was frozen in horror as crimson streams dripped from her lips and cheek. She collapsed to her knees, weakened from the loss of blood. Several broken teeth tumbled out of her mouth. He stared down at her and chuckled. "Suicide is a privilege that you have not earned, Ms. Neumanns."

Panic filled her eyes as he stepped closer. "No!" Her frantic words were muffled with blood, shock, and anguish. "No! No!" She looked over toward the edge, wanting to escape the pain as well as the torture that was to come.

"The fall will not kill you," he stated. "Only break every bone in your body. And I wish to take on that task myself." He needed to escape now. The authorities were likely gathering out front, and he would not relinquish Ms. Neumanns until she gave him what he wanted. He hooked the noose around her neck and yanked her toward him with moderate force. She pulled back against it, tilting her head back and strangling herself. It was the first time that anyone had tried to kill themselves on the end of his lasso. He bent down toward her as she gagged. "Where is Christine, Ms. Neumanns?"

"No!" she choked, sputtering red droplets on his mask.

He loosened the noose. "Very well." He bound her wrists together as she struggled before roughly grabbing her beneath the arms and dragging her away with him. He climbed over the balcony railing, using window ledges and loose bricks to make his way to the ground. Ms. Neumanns kicked and pushed against him.

Fortunately, the wench was being fairly quiet. Perhaps she feared the thought of going to the hospital and getting her face wrapped in hideous bandages. She would be forced to stand trial like that in front of the world. And then there would be prison, of course. Perhaps she thought her best chances of death were still with _him_.

He would have done the same in her situation. Considering the horrific accomplishments of their lives, he guessed that neither of them believed in Hell.

He finally dropped her near the bottom as she attempted to elbow him in the stomach. She cried out in pain as her body slammed into the damp grass. Blood soaked the front of his white shirt from her wound, and he could feel the wet stickiness on his hands. After he had jumped down, he dragged her away by the arms, far from the lights and sounds that were accumulating at the house. Staying in the pitch-black, he found his way to the groves of pine trees and dropped her on the needle-covered ground. He bound her ankles with twine and loomed over her.

_His game. _He felt delightfully empowered.

"All is lost, Ms. Neumanns. You have nothing." She stared up at him with hatred, tiny tears of pain in the corners of her eyes. "Perhaps if you tell me where Christine is, I will put you out of your misery. _Where is Christine?_" Her bloodied lips curved upwards. He grabbed her by the hair and pulled, jerking her head back. "_Where?_"

"Dead!" Ms. Neumanns choked out, blood leaking from her mouth. "She's dead! The little brat is dead!"

"Lying!" He grabbed her by the shoulders and slammed her head against the dirt. "_Where is Christine?_"

"Dead!" she moaned, her head rolling to the side. "Idiot monster. She's dead!" His heart ripped. He tore off his mask and got inches from her face. She gagged and stared at him with sickened fascination. "Good God…So ugly…"

He put his thumbs at the corner of her eyes, threatening to pop them out of their sockets. His hand brushed against her wound; the woman shrieked. "Where is she?"

"Dead," she murmured. "She's dead. Now let me die," she groaned. Her tongue and jaw were swelling, garbling her words. "I want to die."

He saw the glimmer of truth in her cold, green eyes.

_No. Please no. _

"She's dead." The words echoed.

_No. No… _

A crushing pain formed within and paralyzed his body. Every old injury seemed to ache, and it hurt to breathe. Each internal organ was squeezed; his surroundings faded and blurred together. There was only agony, and he knew he was in prison. Something poked him in the chest. He took out the pistol and stared at it.

_How had he acquired a gun in his cell? Had one of the guards left it last time? _

It would be simpler to shoot himself than to hang himself with a sheet. Or than slamming his head into the wall_. He_ chuckled at the memory. He pressed the barrel to his head, grazing it against his temple and forehead…moving it toward his twisted lips. The tip was cold and smooth and kind. So simple…

Something screeched. Another tortured prisoner, perhaps? He gripped the gun possessively.

_No one would take _his_ freedom. _

It screeched again. "No! No!" He looked down and saw a woman lying on brown pine needles. He blinked twice, feeling cold night air against his naked face.

_No. He was not in prison. It was worse. _

"No! You can't! You can't leave me like this!" She blinked and released a sound between a laugh and a cough. "You can't. There's nothing left…"

"You kindly left me one last round, Ms. Neumanns. And I have earned the privilege of death. You have not. You deserve to be locked in a cell with a hole in your face. I deserve peace now."

"No…" She groaned, struggling in the bonds and arching her back in agony. "No…You can't. Let me die. It's not fair. I didn't want the girl dead. It wasn't time yet….Let me die…"

"What did she look like?" he hissed, falling to his knees beside her. He again pressed the barrel hard against his head, threatening to leave her in her misery. "Did you ever see her alive? Was she in pain? Did she cry? Did she suffer? Was it quick? What did you do with her? _You will tell me!_"

He wanted to know these facts. He wanted to know if he could find his beloved's body and curl up with her in a coffin big enough for both of them. That would be a good ending. _Yes!_ He laughed, joyful with this new idea. He would have her forever. And no one would touch them. He pressed his free hand against the gaping wound, causing the woman to yelp. "What did you do with her!"

"I…don' know…" Her tongue was so swollen that he could barely understand her, which made it all the more painful and frustrating.

"You do know!" he snarled, pressing harder. He bent down so that he was mere inches from her face. Her eyes widened in horror. More blood ran out of her mouth, and one eye drooped. "Did she suffer? Tell me if she cried for me! What did you do with her? Bury her properly or leave her somewhere to rot? You will give me every detail, Ms. Neumanns! You will relive the damned event!"

"I want to die…"

"And you will live forever until you tell me."

"No...Die…"

He set down the gun. He took out the knife and held it up to her wound, breathing frantically. "Tell me," he whispered. "Tell me what you did to her. And I will do the same to you. "

They stared at each other, two of nature's most twisted creations.

"I…ne'er saw..." Her voice was weak and unintelligible. "Not there. They left. I don't know about…body." Enraged, he dug the blade into the wound. She hoarsely screamed. Her eyes closed as she finally fainted from the pain.

He stopped the torment as emptiness washed over him. There was no satisfaction, only despair.

Her eyes had been honest. She did not know where his Christine was. His heart was heavy, and the anger was slowly dissipating. Another breeze brushed against his face, disturbing the pine needles and causing the above branches to sway. He was alone.

Perhaps it would be better if it all just…_ended _now.

He picked up the pistol.

A final gunshot brought the day to a close.


	71. The Survivors

Many thanks for your patience, guys. Your reviews have been amazing, both from those of you who have been reading from the beginning and those who just started. They even helped me to make a decision on a certain character. As always, a big thanks to _MadLizzy _for her help in editing.

I'm going to estimate two more chapters after this one. Knowing me, it will be three more. But we'll say two more right now ;)

**Read and Review!!!**

"Could you pass me the salt, love?"

Christine blinked. Her husband's simple question replayed in her mind, and it took her a moment to react. She stared at the salt shaker, studying the tiny white grains, before picking the object up. It felt cold and bulged in her hands.

Raoul smiled and took it from her. "Thanks." She tilted her head and squinted, finding the room far too bright. Her mouth was dry. "Are you all right?" He took her pale hand and entwined their fingers together.

"I'm fine," she murmured. "Tired."

"Tired? From the trip out here?"

"I guess so."

"Hmm. Maybe it's…" He glanced at their two dinner companions across the plain white tablecloth. "Can I tell them, love?"

_Tell them what? _"All right." She shifted, cobwebs layering her mind.

Raoul grinned. "We're expecting a child. A boy."

_Yes, they were, weren't they? _She weakly smiled as their friends congratulated them.

Christine picked up her fork and took a bite of food; it was very bland. A round clock on the wall said that it was three fifteen. _Why were they having dinner so early? Was it a London thing?_

"Well, I guess it's time for me to go take a look at corporate headquarters," began Raoul, setting down his fork. "Find out how things work around here. I should be back in a couple of hours. You'll be okay here?"

She nodded. "I'll be fine." Her neck felt stiff, and an unpleasant lump gathered in the pit of her stomach. She wanted to tell her husband something but forgot what.

"I'll stay with you," said one of their friends. The woman smiled. "Maybe we can go shopping later. Won't that be nice?"

"That's a great idea," said Raoul. "You two ladies have fun. Buy whatever you want. I'm sure we'll be back soon."

Christine's hands curled into fists as Raoul and the other man disappeared behind a gold-rimmed door. She took a step, hearing her high-heeled shoe click on the polished marble tiles. She looked down at herself and saw a white satin dress that lazily flowed down to her ankles. _And diamonds!_ Sparkling diamonds covered her fingers, and a diamond necklace hung from her neck. Even her dress looked as though diamonds had been sewn into the expensive fabric. She was a walking gemstone.

"Are you well?" the woman asked, taking a step toward her. "You look…pale."

Christine glanced up and took a step backward, wary of the other woman. "Yes. Just tired." There was something she needed to remember. She swallowed. This wasn't right.

"Maybe you need a nap, dear. Expectant women need to rest often."

"Maybe."

"It'll be wonderful to have another heir for the company."

Christine pressed her back against a wall, her mind spinning. "It's not right," she choked out. She didn't know what she meant. Was she insane?

The older blonde woman approached her, both slender hands now folded behind her back. "What's not right, dear? Are you ill?"

"I don't know. I don't…" She felt as though she were about to cry. "I want to go now."

"Where do you want to go?"

She didn't know. She couldn't think! All she could say was, "It's not right."

"Not right?" Leonie asked. "Not right?" Her eyes widened, and she smiled. "Oh! You mean _this _isn't right?" She took her hands out from behind her back. A shriveled human head hung from her fingers by several strands of short, dark hair.

It was….

Christine screamed. She hurled herself against the whitewashed walls and shrieked again and again. "No! No! No!" The two eyes of the human head stared at her, hollow and lifeless. Pure horror overtook her heart and lungs, and she became too weak to make any more sounds. Choking noises escaped her throat, and she sobbed.

"Calm down," someone murmured.

"No!" she yelped. "Please! No! No!" Leonie's laughter echoed in the background. The blinding white began to fade to dark. She blinked, feeling a cool softness beneath her cheek and arms.

"It's okay," a female soothed.

Christine opened her eyes. She was lying on a bed in a dim and unfamiliar room. A sob of anguish and relief escaped her dry throat. Her cheeks were sticky with tears.

"Sh. Calm down. You're fine." A middle-aged woman with short brunette hair was standing above her, wearing light blue scrubs. Christine flinched and noticed that several plastic tubes were hooked up to her arm.

"Where am I?" she asked, trying to sort out reality and the nightmare.

"A government clinic," replied the woman. "You're being treated for dehydration, exhaustion, and a bit of malnutrition. You also sprained your ankle. Do you remember coming here?"

"A little bit." She coughed several times. An unpleasant taste lingered on her tongue. "Where's Raoul?"

"He was taken in for questioning. You can see him later. They wanted to question you, too, but you needed immediate rest. They'll probably be here again tomorrow." The woman studied her. "Are you okay now? Bad dream?"

She nodded and rested her head back on the pillow. The woman adjusted one of the humming machines and left the room. Christine attempted to push the dream out of her mind. The image of Erik's head in Leonie's hands made her want to scream and vomit.

The room was warm and comfortable, and she felt somewhat safe with these stoic people. Even if the dream wasn't real, though, Erik was still missing. She was alone and powerless now--trapped, injured, and guarded by government agents. She could only wonder where everyone else was and prayed that morning would bring illumination. Finally, Christine fell into a dreamless sleep. When she awoke the second time, another light was on.

"What time is it?" she asked as a younger red-headed nurse entered.

"A little after eight."

_Morning had come…_

The nurse helped her hobble to the bathroom door, but she was thankfully allowed privacy once inside. She tried to wash the dirt and stickiness off her face. Later, she drank from a paper cup of water and attempted to eat a small serving of applesauce and saltine crackers. Her motions were mechanical, and cooperation seemed like the best option.

Late that morning, a tall man in a suit and tie entered her room. He was clean-cut and lean, maybe handsome, but his face showed little emotion. She wrapped a cloth robe around her thin frame and pulled the cotton blanket up to her chest, uneasily eyeing him.

"Good morning, Ms. Daae." He nodded once, seeming disinterested in her situation, before taking out a pen and small brown notebook.

"Morning."

"Are you feeling better today?"

"Yes, thank you."

"Glad to hear it." He pulled a plastic chair out of a corner and took a seat. "I'm just going to ask you a few questions, and then I'll leave you alone. Make it as painless as possible for you."

"All right." Christine shifted. Gavin had once told her what to say if she was ever questioned. She knew not to mention Erik but realized with sadness that Raoul might have already told them everything. Her friend still had a deep hatred of Erik.

She answered most of the questions with half-truths, stating that she had been with Gavin or Raoul during most of her disappearance. The man didn't seem disturbed by any of her responses.

"How did you know of any illegal activities involving _Falcon_?" he asked, looking her in the eye.

"I found papers at Raoul's house," she replied. "A letter. And then I…just had a bad feeling after I met Mr. Oliver and Ms. Neumanns." She inwardly cringed, knowing she sounded stupid.

"But how did you know to look? Why would you even begin this quest?"

Christine hesitated. She wasn't fast enough to think of a believable lie. "Last spring, when I was kidnapped, I heard my…captors talking about it."

He leaned forward with interest. "And what did they say?"

"Nothing in detail. Just that they'd been hurt by Raoul's family and wanted revenge. And that made me wonder what had happened. So I searched, and Gavin helped."

"Have you seen your kidnappers since that time?"

She looked him in the eye as best she could. "No. They disappeared after that. Until I heard about some of them going to prison."

"They never tried to contact you?"

"No. I would have called the police if they had. I mean…they _did _kidnap me. I would've been afraid of them." She hoped that he couldn't hear the slight tremble in her voice.

He nodded and studied his notes. "You took on a lot by yourself."

"It seemed right," she murmured.

The man stared at her. She brushed a limp strand of hair out of her face and looked down. "All right, Ms. Daae. That should be it. Thank you for your time. You should be reunited with your friends soon."

He left before she could think to ask any questions. With a sigh, she reclined back onto the pillow and stared at the ceiling. The room was uncomfortably quiet, and she would have given anything for a television or a radio. It was horrible not knowing anything. Then again, if she found out that Erik had been hurt, it would kill her. She had to believe that he was still alive. She could handle anything if she believed that.

Early that afternoon, Raoul was finally led to her room. His eyes still had faint rings, but he looked rested and washed. He was wearing a fresh pair of jeans and a sweatshirt. A few pink scratches lined his forehead from their escapade through the tunnels. She smiled, leaned over, and tightly hugged him.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, wrapping his arms around her shoulders.

"All right, I guess. How are you?"

"Tired. But glad to be alive."

"Me, too." She briefly glanced to the side to see if anyone was listening to them. "Do you…know anything?"

"No. I haven't seen any news yet. I wanted to see how you were doing. But I'm guessing that _Falcon_ is going to come crashing down soon…if it hasn't already."

"Oh. That's good." Any victory was empty without Erik. The feeling in the pit of her stomach only tightened. "So what happens next? Where do we go?"

"I don't know yet. We might have to stick around the city for awhile. There's going to be a trial. I'm going to need a lawyer."

Her eyes widened. "Are you in trouble?"

"I won't be arrested as a criminal. But I might be sued by the victims. I think they can't touch the money in the trusts, but…Meh. I don't know. I don't even care right now. I'm just glad we're alive."

"I'm sorry. I know it was your father's company. It must be terrible for you to watch this happen."

"Leonie made _Falcon_ a nightmare. It needed to be destroyed. Nothing could have saved it." They sat in silence, lost in their own somber thoughts. She turned her head as a stray tear trickled down her cheek. "Are you okay?" he asked.

"Yes. Just exhausted."

Raoul paused and looked down. His voice was quiet. "I told the…uh…agents to keep the rumor alive that we're safe. Everyone should know that you're okay after they see the news."

Christine glanced up in surprise and hugged him tightly, feeling her eyes tear up all over again. "Thank you," she whispered.

He gave her a half-hearted embrace. "You're welcome. Thanks for coming back for me." She cringed at hearing the pain in his words. But there was nothing she could give him that would make it go away. There was little that either of them could do but suffer in each other's company.

"What are you two crazy kids up to?"

She turned and saw Gavin standing in the doorway. He was smiling but appeared as tired as the rest of them. After days of running through the city with only cookies and crackers for nourishment, he'd lost a little weight. Christine reached out and hugged him in relief. He and Raoul shook hands and murmured that it was good to be alive.

They all recounted their stories of escape in vague detail, never mentioning Nadir and Erik. Gavin simply said, "I stayed at a church by myself and waited for the phone call. _I_ wouldn't have been any help in searching for you. I would have been in the way."

She understood that to mean Erik had gone to find her alone, and her heart fell. God knew where he had gone to look. He would have done _anything_ to get to her.

"Have you seen any news?" asked Raoul, breaking an uncomfortable silence.

"A little this morning. Frederick and his mistress were found alive in the home. There were some other people that died. Bodyguards, maybe. I don't know how, though."

"Leonie?" Raoul made a face as he said the name.

"Haven't heard that yet. The authorities are raiding the _Falcon_ building this morning, though. The government has frozen all the company's assets. It's pretty much over for them."

"But Frederick is alive," she whispered, gripping the bedding in her hand.

Gavin lowered his voice. "That might mean _he _was never there."

Christine frowned. "It doesn't have to mean that."

He drew back. "I guess not."

"So now what?" asked Raoul.

"We can stay here awhile longer," said Gavin. "Christine should probably rest. As long as we remain in the city until everything is cleared up, we can probably get a hotel when we want."

"If it's safe out there, I want to leave soon," said Christine. There was no way that Erik could get to her in this building, at least not without violence. And she didn't want him to try.

"Let's give it a day," said Gavin. "Just in case Leonie has a stray hit man out there or something. And for your ankle." She nodded in reluctant agreement. "It'll be okay," he whispered. "It's all going to come together. Everyone will be fine."

She rested back against the pillow, suddenly feeling very tired again.

_What if he were dead?_

She had to force the thought away, not wanting her two friends to see her curl up into a ball of emotional and physical agony.

_Please don't take him from me. I'll do anything if you give him back. Don't tell me this was all for nothing. Please…please give him back to me. _

* * *

Emily could never remember half of what happened that night. She awoke the next morning in the hospital with a migraine and a few purple bruises. When the police came into the room to question her, she told them what she could. A tall, shadowy man had attacked and tortured them for hours. She couldn't recall his face, and his voice was difficult to describe. His hands had been nearly white. And at the end of the horrific affair, she'd felt the icy grip of death on her wrist. 

The police later questioned her about some of Mr. Oliver's affairs. She told them what she could but didn't know very much about his work. She was just the maid, after all.

After sternly telling her not to leave the city, the authorities finally headed for the door. She asked them what was happening, but they delivered no response. She enquired if Mr. Oliver was alive, and they gave a very curt 'yes.' Once they were gone, she tried to turn on the television that was mounted on the wall. As she fumbled with the remote control, a little boy's voice made her glance toward the doorway.

"Mummy! Mummy!"

Emily watched with wide eyes as her two sons hopped up on the bed with her. After recovering from her shock, she weakly smiled and put an arm around each of them, feeling soft pangs of guilt in her heart. "My boys! How are you both?"

"We're fine!" exclaimed the oldest one. "Are you sick? Is that why you've been gone?"

"I…Mummy's been very busy," Emily stuttered. "She has to make money to take care of you." She looked up to see her husband standing in the doorway with his arms crossed. He was unshaven and wearing a blue t-shirt and wrinkled pair of jeans. His face was drawn.

"What happened to you?" he asked. "Your creepy boss told me you were sick. I didn't expect you to be in the hospital, though."

"Don't even ask," she murmured, looking downwards. "The night was insane. I don't remember very much."

"Your boss is sure in a lot of trouble. You should see some of the stuff on the news."

"He was becoming senile. I don't think Mr. Oliver even understood what he was doing."

Her husband laughed and shook his head. "No, honey. They've been doing illegal stuff for decades…theft, fraud, bribery, murder. You name it."

"Why would they do all that?"

"To give you all that pretty jewelry."

She turned away from him. "Don't be an ass. I had a horrible night."

"At least I could testify that you were completely ignorant to the fact that your boss was a nut job. Jesus, Emily. Weren't there any signs? Or did you just do your _work, _get the big money,and ignore everything else?"

Her youngest son giggled. "What's a nut job?"

"Nothing." She glared at her husband. "Get out if you're going to act like that. I wouldn't have to work if you'd go and get a decent _job_."

"Someone has to take care of the kids while you're out sleeping with England's biggest sleaze!"

Her face flushed. "Leave me alone!"

The boys looked between their parents with blank expressions. "Mummy? Are you coming home?"

She paused, feeling very hollow inside. "Yes," she replied with a thick swallow. "I'll come home now. Do you want me to?" Emily gave him a crooked smile.

"Yeah! You should come home now with us."

"Yeah," her husband muttered, the sarcasm gone from his voice. "Come home. I can't raise the kids by myself. The house is a mess. Everything's gone to hell." He glanced at the boys and shook his head. "We'll figure the rest out later. Come back, and we'll deal with…whatever."

"I will," she murmured. She looked at her grinning children. "I bought you both gifts, but they're back at Mr. Oliver's house. I'm not sure I can get to them now."

Her eldest son shrugged. "That's all right."

She stroked his hair before glancing up at her husband. "Did you ever hear what happened to Leonie Neumanns?" she asked. "I remember her being at the house last night. Before I was unconscious."

"It just crossed the news a little while ago. They think she tried to kill herself. They're still investigating."

"_Tried_ to kill herself?"

"Yeah. She's still alive. At a hospital with some really bad injuries." Her husband chuckled, getting far too much enjoyment out of the entire debacle. "You should see what they're saying about her. That woman is going away for a long, long time."

"Hm. Well, I never liked her very much," Emily murmured, watching as her youngest son snuggled into the crook of her arm.

* * *

The trio of survivors left the government building a day later and went to a hotel of their choice. Someone gave them a few extra pairs of clothes, toiletries, and an emergency number in case they found themselves in immediate danger. They'd attempted to keep their heads down as they took a cab to the inn, and Christine felt jittery as she went out in public again. She'd become used to fearing and hiding from the rest of the world. 

They registered for two rooms and collapsed onto the twin beds in one room as soon as they went upstairs. Raoul flipped on the television. Gavin stepped into the hallway and got everyone sodas from a vending machine. Christine propped her foot on a pillow, feeling drained from the journey. A brace had been placed on her ankle, and she'd been given one crutch to help her get around for the next few days.

Despite what they'd been through, the images on the news were startling. The cameras would go to poorer countries and show images of crippled and disfigured people. There were shots of the _Falcon _building being raided and some employees coming out in handcuffs. Figureheads and analysts spoke in turns about how and why this had happened.

Raoul cursed beneath his breath. "What the hell was my dad thinking?"

They finally received the news that Leonie had survived a suicide attempt. Raoul paled upon hearing the report, and Gavin appeared slightly pleased. It was just another disturbing bit of news to add to Christine's confusion.

At one point, Gavin got hold of his wife and left the room to talk for nearly forty minutes.

"How'd it go?" Christine asked after he returned.

"Well…I might be sleeping on the couch for a few weeks. But she's not kicking me out. So I'm happy."

"Will everyone know that you did this? I mean, that you wrote the original report?"

"If I want them to," he replied. "After the trial, I can say more to the media. And it might be nice to put it on a resume."

"You probably won't get any privacy," said Raoul.

"I don't think I'll be _that_ famous." Gavin sat down for a minute, stood back up, and stretched. "We should go get some dinner. There's a restaurant across the parking lot."

"I don't know if I should show my face in public," muttered Raoul, watching as something about his dad crossed the screen.

Christine started to tell Gavin that she was too exhausted to go out but paused. The sky was growing darker, and the darkness might bring bright stars. "I'll come."

"I guess I will, too," said Raoul. "If you guys help me fight off the angry mobs."

Christine attempted a smile, feeling some comfort in the fact that they were safe. It was nice to be a legitimate person again. Life could go on now as it had before, without constant worry and fear. And yet…it could never go on as it had. An invisible but permanent scar had been engraved into her being.

Gavin collected his wallet, and her friends helped her to the elevator and out of the hotel. Few other people were around to notice them. It was cloudy but not unbearably cold. A wind swept against them, and an inner sensation caused her to shiver. Christine stumbled once, and Raoul caught her arm. "Are you okay?" he asked.

"Yeah. I'm fine." He started to help her limp toward the restaurant door, and Christine began to wonder if she should have stayed in the room. Walking around in public so soon was draining. And there were no stars. And there was emptiness. "You know what? I'm not even hungry. I think I'll go back and sleep."

"I'll order some stuff and bring it up," said Gavin, finally seeing that he was the only one in a celebratory mood. He put a hand on the door handle. "You guys can go on back."

"Thanks."

"I don't know if anything is ever going to be the same," Raoul murmured as they turned in the opposite direction. "Every time I spend money, I'm going to wonder if someone had to die for me to get it. Every time I think of my dad, I'm going to think of this year. "

"I know what you mean," she replied. "Everything seems tainted."

"Yeah. Sometimes I think that ignorance was bliss. I wish that I didn't know any of this. But that's no good either."

"You'll be okay. After the victims get help, people will forget. Maybe you'll even be remembered as someone who helped stop _Falcon_." She smiled. "Kind of a hero."

He turned a little red. "Heh. That'd be nice."

They neared the hotel in silence. Each step seemed to take an extra amount of energy, and her arm was aching from using the crutch. "I wonder what Gavin will bring back to eat." The quiet was eerie, and she desired conversation.

Raoul said nothing. Christine glanced at him and saw that he was looking to the right. He'd stopped walking. His expression darkened, and his jaw tightened.

"What's wrong?"

He remained silent, his gaze frozen in the same direction. She turned to look, and her heart stopped beating. And yet she was alive again. A soft "oh" escaped her lips; her skin tingled.

"Go," her friend finally murmured in defeat.

She squeezed his warm hand and whispered 'thank you' as tears fell down her cheeks.

"Go," he repeated.

She obeyed.


	72. Found

Thanks for your patience on this chapter, guys. If you haven't seen it yet, I've posted some fan art by _Biskuits_ for "When All is Lost." I think she did a great sketch of Erik. I've had other people ask before, and I just want to say that fan art is always welcome and wanted.

As always, thank you for your support and kind comments. A big thanks to _MadLizzy_ for her help with editing. There will be one or two more chapters after this, but I can't promise as to when they will be up. Certainly before Christmas, though :)

**Read and Review!!!**

She didn't notice the twinge in her ankle as she limped toward him. She felt as though she were moving through a foggy tunnel; all she could see were the two yellow lights. Far back in her mind, she could practically hear Raoul and Nadir telling her to be careful. _Who knew what Erik had been through? _

But she wasn't careful. She hobbled toward him with deep breaths, a warmth in the center of her chest and a euphoric dizziness encompassing her body. He stood there, hands slightly tilted outwards, watching her.

She dropped the crutch on the pavement, lunged forward off one foot, and wrapped her arms around his thin shoulders with a sharp sob. "Erik! Erik, thank God!" She softly said his name several more times, grasping onto him for dear life. She pressed her forehead against his chest and closed her eyes, wishing that he would wrap his arms around her.

_Was something wrong?_

A familiar and unpleasant odor emanated from his shirt. _Blood. _She leaned back and touched the white material, finding the red spots to be dry. "Erik! Are you hurt?" She looked up at him, panic gripping her throat. He silently stared back, still motionless. "We'll get help. Where are you hurt?"

"No," he whispered.

"No?" She settled her ear back against his chest and relaxed at the sound of his steady heartbeat. His breathing was normal and unlabored. The crimson droplets were spattered in various directions and didn't appear to be coming from a specific area. Maybe only his mind had been wounded.

She kissed his masked cheek before taking his hand and entwining their fingers together. "Come with me," she whispered, bending down and picking up the crutch. "We'll go to my room."

"Is everything okay?" Raoul was eyeing them from a distance.

Christine hesitated. "Yes!" she called back, keeping her voice steady. "Thanks! We're going inside. Tell Gavin I'll see him later." She turned back to her beloved. "Erik?" She tried to get him to look at her. "Are you all right? You know it's Christine, don't you?"

"Yes," he murmured. His eyes were still distant. She decided to get inside before attempting to reach him again.

To her relief, he walked with her as she limped forward. She used the crutch with one hand and guided Erik with the other. After checking to make sure that no one else was around, she led them to a pair of side doors. Erik suddenly stopped, jerking her backward. She could see his shoulders tense.

"What's wrong?" she asked. He didn't answer. Christine turned and lifted the bottom of his mask up; he didn't react. Using his shoulders for balance, she stood on her toes and gently kissed the corner of his mouth. "I love you."

After wiping away a tear, she started to move forward again, her muscles sore from the sudden exertion. She cursed her ankle and physical weakness. Still, she was determined to get inside and upstairs…_with Erik_.

_Maybe I'll have to find that horrible lasso, tie it to his wrist, and pull him inside with me. _

A hand touched her shoulder from behind; Christine turned around. A smile lit up her face.

"You are injured." His words were barely audible. He stared at her ankle as though noticing it for the first time.

"It's just a sprain. I'll be fine." She touched his arm "Come inside with me and rest."

"You are here."

"Yes," she murmured, taking his hand. "We're both here."

Clarity finally began to enter his eyes. "We must go inside separately. You will go. And I will follow in moments."

Her throat tightened. "Are we being watched?"

"Not directly. But there are security cameras throughout the building. And the media will arrive soon. In mere minutes, perhaps. I can get by unnoticed if I am alone."

"All right." Christine whispered her room number and discreetly handed him her extra key card, feeling overwhelmed. _Would they never be safe?_ She reached out a hand to him. "Erik."

He touched her hair. "I will see you in moments."

She entered the building and headed toward the elevator. He watched as she climbed into the mobile cell, staring at the confining square room with disdain. The metal doors slid shut, separating them. As she rode to the upper floors, Christine held her breath and felt her heart pound. A part of her wanted to run back down and grab onto him again, but she certainly didn't want to endanger anyone. Once on the correct floor, she limped to her room and opened the door with the key. Her hands were cold, and she wrung them together as she waited in an armchair.

Minutes passed, and she began to feel nauseated. What if he had been too disoriented to make it upstairs? She reached for the crutch, determined to go back downstairs and find him. A clicking sound at her door caused her to glance up. As it opened, she smiled in relief. After grabbing Erik's hand, she pulled him into the room, closed the door, and locked the deadbolt. "You found me," was all she could say.

She led him to a cushioned chair, and he stiffly sat down. "I'll get us some water," she whispered, her throat dry. Christine flipped on a light and limped to the sink. She fumbled for two plastic cups and turned on the faucet, taking deep, calming breaths. When she glanced up, she saw Erik standing directly behind her in the mirror. He reached out and touched her hair.

After shutting off the sink, she turned around and hugged him again. Finally, she received the embrace that she wanted. His arms wound tightly around her, his cheek pressed against the top of her head and his body nearly leaning against hers.

They walked a few steps and collapsed into an armchair together. His eyes were finally bright and aware. Several minutes of silence ticked by, their unsteady breaths the only sound in the room. He whispered her name.

"Were you hurt?" she asked again, touching his shirt. "There's blood…"

"No. It is not mine. I…she…but _she _did not deserve the privilege of death. I did not let her die."

"She?" Christine sharply withdrew her hands from the stains. "Oh! You did go to _Falcon_. You went to Leonie and Frederick to find me!"

He looked down at her. "But they are still alive."

"I'm just glad you're alive." She rested her head against his shoulder and closed her eyes. "I don't know what I would have done. I was losing my mind."

"She said you were dead. She would not stop saying that."

"She's a liar. I don't care what happens to her. I hope she rots in prison for the rest of her life."

He wearily chuckled. "I have enough hate for both of us, my Christine." He took her hand and stroked his fingers over the ring. "You were with that boy the entire time?" He sounded more tired than angry.

"Yes," she replied. "Leonie's men came after us from both directions, and we had to run and hide. They knew about all the tunnels somehow. And Nadir...he…" She choked on her words. "Nadir was shot. The wound was bad, and there wasn't enough time to help him. I'm so sorry."

"It is not your fault. I buried him properly. And it is done."

"Erik." She looked up at him. "Nadir said…he wanted me to tell you that he cared about you. He said that he cared. And I—I think he was at peace after that. I don't think it was too painful." Erik said nothing, but a glint of grief flickered in his eyes. They were silent for several moments. She swallowed the lump in her throat and spoke again. "Where did you go?"

"Oliver's home."

She frowned at his clipped answer, unsure of whether he was too tired to explain or if he thought the details were too unpleasant. "How did you find us here?"

"The authorities talked of some matters. And the media knew. The media will descend on the boy soon, if they are not already downstairs with their wretched cameras." Erik looked toward the window. "It is not wise for me to remain here long."

"Are we safe for even a little while?"

"I believe so."

"We'll go somewhere else as soon as possible. And then when the trial is over, we can go back home. We can go wherever we want."

He stroked his thumb over her cheek. "We will."

She reached up and touched the strings of his mask, tired of staring at the shiny black porcelain. "Can I?"

"Yes."

She removed it, smiled, and kissed him. He leaned forward and gently responded. Her cheeks were warm. She felt nearly giddy with joy, as though she might start laughing or crying at any moment.

As Christine drew back, she saw that his eyes were still weary. He watched her with an unreadable expression. "I'll get you some water," she murmured, preparing to stand up.

"I will," he replied. "You should not walk too often." He stood and strode to the sink. With his back toward her, Erik filled a cup and drank from it. After doing so a second time, he filled another glass and returned to her side. She took the cup and moved so that he could sit with her. The water brought soothing clarity as it slid down her throat.

Erik tilted his head back against the headrest, obviously exhausted. She wondered what he had been through in those last few days. Any confrontation with Leonie might have been a nightmare. And the news said that she had shot herself…

Pushing her questions away, she kissed his left cheek. "I'm going to get food for us. Gavin should be back by now."

"I am not hungry." He looked her over. "But yes. You must eat, or you will look like me soon." The corner of his thin lip twitched.

"How long has it been since you've eaten?" He didn't answer. "I'll be right back. I'll get something with a lot of flavor." He merely watched as she stood, his eyes set at a steady glow.

Taking her key and crutch, Christine quickly hobbled to the other reserved room and knocked three times. Gavin immediately opened the door, a broad smile on his face. Maybe Raoul had told him the news. "Hey there!" he exclaimed.

She hugged him with a cry of joy. "Gavin!" She softened her voice. "He's alive. And he's not hurt!"

"That's great," he replied, lightly embracing her. "I knew he could handle himself."

She nodded and drew back. "Could I get some food to take back? I want him to eat."

"Sure! I've got plenty and no one to share it with."

She looked into the room as Gavin went to the table and gathered some white paper sacks. "Where's Raoul?"

"Still downstairs, I guess. Some reporters were starting to appear, and I'm not sure where he went. He may need some bodyguards if he doesn't want to be ambushed."

She somberly nodded. "Erik said that might happen. I hope he's okay."

"He's been through a lot. It'll take time. And maybe some lawyers." Gavin came back and handed her the sacks. "That should be enough of a variety. Is there anything else you need?"

Christine hesitated. "Erik needs new clothing. His shirt is…dirty. He's so thin, though. I don't even know what'll fit him."

Gavin stepped away and reached into a closet. He pulled out a white dress shirt that was still in clear plastic wrapping and held it up by the hanger. "This is new, and it's a little small for me. It's probably still way too big for him. I can look around tomorrow. Do you want this one anyway?"

"Yeah. I'll try it." She took the hanger. "Thanks. For everything. We couldn't have done this without you. I'm just sorry that I put you through so much."

"No problem. I'm hoping I can write a book about the whole thing. It was all worth it." Gavin grinned.

"I hope your wife feels the same way."

"I'm sure she'll come around." His expression became serious. "Anyway, let me know how it goes."

"I will. Thanks again." She headed back to her room, wary of leaving Erik for any long period of time. He tended to be very good at disappearing. When she opened the door and saw that he was no longer sitting in the armchair, her heart nearly stopped.

She then noticed that the bathroom door was closed and heard the bathwater running. Christine blinked in surprise before limping over to the desk and setting the items down. When the water was finally turned off, she went to the door and cleared her throat. "Erik?"

A pause. "Yes?"

"I have a shirt for you. It might be a little big but…it's nice." _And it doesn't have Leonie's blood on it. _

"It will not fit."

"We can get another one later."

Another pause. The door cracked open, and he reached out to take it. She placed the shirt into his hand, catching a tiny glimpse of his upper torso before he wordlessly closed the door. The skin was the same grayish color as the rest of his body, lined with purple bruises and melded scars. His ribcage was practically visible. Her heart ached as she returned to the table. She wanted to say something poignant but had never been good with words. She could only hope that Erik understood how happy he made her.

Erik emerged within several minutes. His hands were no longer covered in black and red smudges. The new shirt drooped over his frame, but it was crisp and clean. "It is ridiculously large," he muttered, avoiding her eyes as he straightened his clothing.

"It looks fine." She hid a smile. "Come eat."

"I am not hungry now."

"Please. Just a bite."

He finally walked to the table and stared at the assortment. He wrapped his fingers around a biscuit, brought it to his mouth, and bit into the soft bread with his head turned to the side. After another second, he sat down, continuing to slowly chew. He seemed to struggle with keeping his jaw aligned and his mouth closed. She soon took out a roast beef dish and began to eat with him.

"Can you taste it?" she asked. "There are more flavorful things here."

He finally looked at her. "I can taste the salt. It is fine." Erik leaned to the side and pulled back the blinds before turning to stare out the window. "I fear we will have an audience soon."

"We'll leave when we have to. I can talk to Gavin about going somewhere else."

Erik nodded and finished eating. Without the mask and the dark jacket, he appeared almost fragile in the giant chair. And yet he also seemed more human when he wasn't clad in black from head to toe and standing over her. Christine stood. He held out a hand, and she sat with him and wrapped her arms around his neck. She let her cheek rest against him, the scent of new clothing and soap now apparent.

"You are alive," he whispered. "I feared I would have to share a coffin with you."

"Not for a very long time," she murmured, letting her fingers run over the little white buttons. They remained like that for several hours, and she dozed with a sense of peace in her heart. When Christine awoke and saw where she was, her cheeks tingled. He was staring down at her. A single lamp still lit one corner of the room, and the heater hummed.

"Did you sleep?" she asked.

"Briefly." He glanced at the door and then at her. Christine started to go back to sleep, but Erik shifted as thought he wanted to stand. "You…you will stay forever?"

"Yes," she whispered.

He nodded once and reached for his mask. After tying it on and adjusting the porcelain into place, he gently moved over and stood. "I will return by morning."

"What?" She sat up straight and frowned. The clock said that it was just past midnight. "Where are you going?"

"I must retrieve several items. Such as a shirt that does not fall off of me."

"What do you have to get? If you just need clothes, Gavin could get them tomorrow."

"No. There are certain possessions he cannot obtain. I must go."

She eyed him, her heart pounding. "You promise that you'll come back?"

He softly chuckled and let a hand run over her hair. "If I were a good man, I would leave you." She started to protest, but Erik continued to speak. "But I am far too selfish to ever do so. I would only leave you if you begged me to go away. And even then, you could not be rid of me. I would watch you until I died. I am very terrible, Christine. But yes. Yes! I will return."

"Erik." She stood and pressed a kiss to his jaw. "Be careful."

"Is there anything you wish me to retrieve for you?"

"No. Just come back to me."

* * *

_He _stared into a glass case of diamond jewelry, wondering if she would desire any of the glittering items. If it made her happy, he'd obtain all the jewels in the world for her. But, somehow, he didn't think the gems would make her happy. He couldn't quite name what brought joy to her eyes. Or perhaps he wasn't ready to admit it to himself. 

After another few minutes of browsing, he crept out of the dark shop without setting off any alarms. _He_ knew what he could get for her….if he could find it. His mother had mentioned its existence several times. _"His picture hangs on the wall of one of England's finest universities. He was brilliant. You'll never become that great man, Erik." _

_He_ brutally forced the memory away. Little demons would not creep up onto his shoulders and whisper in his ear--not tonight. Turning left, he began to walk forward at a quick pace, life coursing through his veins. His lungs were perfectly clear, and the fog in his mind had faded. He thought of nothing but his beautiful, living Christine.

The previous few days faded like a distant nightmare. He hadn't given Christine many details about them. He didn't think she needed to hear of Ms. Neumanns shooting herself in the face or his madness. Those last moments had nearly taken all of him, and suicide had seemed all too easy.

He had stared at Ms. Neumanns with the gun in his hand. Which of them deserved the last shot? The woman's eyes had started to flutter as consciousness returned, and a moan of pain escaped her throat. The anger had abandoned him by that point. All he wanted to do was ask _why. _

_Why had she ruined his life from the time of his birth? Why had she stolen everything and everyone that was dear? His childhood, mother, freedom, dignity, sanity, friend, and now Christine…his last hope. Why had she made him a monster, torn him down until there was nothing but a dark, bitter shell? Why? Why? Why?_

But there was no answer. Ms. Neumanns simply…enjoyed it. He'd obtained pleasure from taking gruesome revenge on those who had wronged him. She took similar enjoyment from preying on the weak.

But _he _was not weak, and she had lost.

He'd stared at the gun. He would not kill himself until he had found Christine's body and pressed kisses to her cold, blue lips. But Ms. Neumanns?

There was still the chance that Christine was alive, and she did not like death. And she would especially not like the death of a female. And perhaps Ms. Neumanns deserved to live a bit longer.

_He'd _untied her wrists, noticing with contentment that the twine hadn't engraved deep marks into her skin. Her fingers wiggled, and she blinked once. He untied her ankles; she was far too weak to stand up now. "Goodnight, Ms. Neumanns," he murmured. He'd aimed the gun into the vacant darkness, away from the house, and fired the last shot. And then he'd wrapped her right hand around the empty pistol and positioned her hand near her head. Finally, he'd tied the mask back onto his face.

Hearing the nearing voices of authorities, he darted away and into the shadows of the pine trees. The police filtered into the grove within several minutes, beaming their flashlights over the ground. "Over here!" one man called as he spotted Ms. Neumanns. The others soon gathered around her like vultures encircling a carcass.

The authorities would eventually piece parts of the puzzle together…the blood on the balcony and the crimson trail to the pine trees. _He_ was not able to destroy all the evidence. For now, though, it looked like a failed suicide attempt. And perhaps, with all the chaos, they would never be able to determine exactly what had happened that night.

Ms. Neumanns had become completely conscious and screamed. "No! No! No! Leave me alone! Leave me alone!" Her words were still muffled from her swollen mouth. The authorities and emergency workers ignored her and began treating the injuries. An oxygen mask was placed over her face, and she was silenced with a sedative. They finally lifted her onto a stretcher and carried her away.

He'd heard one of the officers mutter a snide remark. "Think some make-up will cover that?"

The authorities briefly trailed their flashlights over the woods, but he was able to avoid illumination. Throughout the affair, he listened to conversations between them and over the radios, hoping for some mention of Christine, Mr. Lewis, or de Chagny. They said nothing of interest.

When all was clear, he sneaked away from the house, jumped over a fence, and began his journey back to the city on foot. For a couple of hours, he walked straight through empty fields, the brittle grass breaking beneath his step. He'd finally found a large truck stopped to the side of the road and slipped into the back with the boxed cargo. His mind was dull, and his motions were robotic. His sole mission was now to find Christine's body.

He'd abandoned the truck when it stopped near London. After some brief, mindless wandering, he'd journeyed to the _Falcon _building and watched as stacks of boxes were carried outside. Police vehicles and white vans surrounded the lit-up complex. Under different circumstances, the victory would have delighted him. But now he only wanted to grab one of the uniformed men and demand to know where Christine was.

He'd crammed himself into an alley corner, removed his mask, and ran his hands over his face. Should he search the tunnels again? The morgues? _Dumpsters?_ It was during this moment of despair that he heard a radio from someone's car.

"Speculation continues on which parties were involved with the crimes of _Falcon_. Sources say that Raoul de Chagny is now in government custody, but it is unknown whether charges will be filed against him. There were also rumors that he was recently spotted with a female companion. It remains unclear how this is tied to the case. Meanwhile, authorities have begun…."

_His_ heart leapt, and he'd jumped to his feet. He stole a police scanner and a regular radio, listening to the chatter for the rest of the night. The following day _he _kept near to the _Falcon_ building again. He'd followed departing cars through the slow, heavy London traffic with the hope that they might lead him to government buildings or hospitals.

_He _experienced little success that first day and had retreated to the alleys again that night, never stopping to sleep or eat or think. He'd begun to completely lose his mind by the following day, pacing for hours with his fists clenched as the irritating authorities discussed everything _but_ Christine. Finally, he heard that three people had been released from government custody, de Chagny amongst them. Reports of their destination varied. Determined to beat the press, he'd investigated each location. He'd phoned the hotels and spoke in a deep, stern voice. "Good afternoon. I am calling from the Security Service to confirm that Mr. de Chagny has been properly accommodated. Please connect me with his room."

The first response was, "Mr. de Chagny isn't staying here. Who is this again?" He'd hung up with a frustrated snarl.

The second response: "_De Chagny?_ The guy from the news? Uh…"

The third response, from a younger female desk clerk, was, "Yes. He's…No…I mean…The Security Service you said?"

He'd hung up and sneaked onto an empty subway car to ride to the destination, knowing the press would soon follow. Once there, he waited for some sign of her outside the building, keeping to a shadowy corner and not allowing his mind to drift. The only thing keeping him mildly sane was the growing evidence that she was alive.

He'd felt surreal when he first saw her walking with the two boys. _He_ couldn't even approach her, only watch through his exhausted fog. Oddly, Christine had suddenly turned and walked in the opposite direction with de Chagny. The boy had seen _him_ first. And then she did.

She became more real as the moments passed, her touch and kiss slowly awakening him. And then he remembered that Christine only existed in reality. He'd never imagined her or dreamt about her.

And after he obtained his desired objects that night, he would return to her forever.

_He _found the complex of late nineteenth-century stone buildings, all with arched entryways and decorative statues. He searched the university for at least an hour before finally finding what he wanted in a long corridor next to several gold-rimmed plaques. Three men smiled at him from the black and white photograph. The middle one looked him directly in the eye. _We Honour the Brightest Minds of 1963._ Their names were discreetly printed along the bottom. _He _gazed at it for but a second.

After leaving the building immediately afterwards, he retrieved new clothing and collected his violin from the nook where he had stored it days earlier. Throughout his journey, the night was quiet and calm. There was only one occasion when he reached for the lasso, dangerously determined to survive. Several sets of quick footsteps approached as he stood in an alleyway.

But no. It was only a group of young people. He released the lasso and left them in peace.

As he suspected, there were cameramen milling about outside the entrance to the hotel. Fortunately, they seemed more intent on finding de Chagny than anything else. They didn't notice as he slunk by them and into the building.

He quickly dashed upstairs, careful to stay out of anyone's view. Calmness settled over him once he was outside Christine's door. The television was on in her room, but the lights were off. He started to manipulate the lock before remembering that he had a key. After sliding the card through the slit, he quietly opened the door.

To his surprise, she was sitting up in bed and staring at him as he walked inside. Christine clicked on a bedside lamp and smiled, her eyes traveling down to the black case. "The violin!" Her voice was hoarse from sleep.

"Yes," he replied. "I would not leave it. Did I awaken you?"

"No. I've just been dozing off and on all night. I couldn't sleep very long." Christine picked up the remote control and turned off the television. "Where did you go?"

"It is not important. You may sleep longer, and I will show you later." Dread suddenly came upon him as he looked over her lovely features. He was no longer sure if he wanted to show Christine a perfect face that she could compare with his hideous visage.

"I can't sleep," she protested, reaching out a hand to him. "It's almost light, anyway. What do you have?"

Unable to resist the feel of her warm fingers on his skin, he sat at the foot of the bed. She came to sit beside him, and he held the framed picture out to her. Christine stared down at the three well-dressed young men. "What's this?" she asked. "Who are they?"

_Did you think she'd notice the family resemblance, you vile thing? _He hesitated, trying to find the right words to explain. "The man in the middle," he began. "He is…I am derived from him, you see. And he is obviously human. So therefore I must be partly…" _He_ was unable to finish.

Christine looked back and forth between him and the photograph. "So this is your—Erik! Of course you're human!"

"You once asked Nadir _what _I was."

She squinted. "I didn't--" Her eyes widened, and she squeezed his hand. "Oh! That was way back at that house, when Raoul and I were first…well, kidnapped. I was terrified out of my mind. I didn't understand or know anything about you."

"I know. You did nothing wrong." He looked down. "It is difficult for me to have regrets; there is too much hate. But I do regret…your fear and pain in those weeks. It was monstrous to make you suffer."

"I forgave you a long time ago," she murmured. "And I've known you were a man for much longer. Don't ever think that you're not human." She set the picture aside and settled her arms around his waist and her cheek against his shoulder.

A shuddery breath escaped his throat. _He_ picked up the picture and held it out to her again. "There is more," he managed to say.

"What?"

"You wished for a name."


	73. In Time

Hi, guys. Thank you all for your patience and for your kind reviews of the last chapter. I'm glad you all enjoyed the outcome :) There will be one more chapter after this one. I'll try to have it up within a week. A big thanks to _MadLizzy_ for her help with editing.

This is the first time I've ever given my Erik a last name. My personal belief is that no last name truly fits Erik. Still, I felt that this story required it. I picked the name that I did because it sounded strong and because it had a meaning that seemed to match the character.

**Read and Review!!**

Christine slowly took the picture of the three men and began to read the words aloud. "We honor the brightest minds of nineteen sixty-three."

"At the bottom," Erik nearly whispered.

She looked down. "Timothy O'Brian. Trenton Ackart. Henry Sheldon." Christine glanced back up and smiled, her cheeks tingling. "Ackart." She'd never seen him until now. The dark-haired young man appeared happy and at ease, untouched by any of the horror that was to come. "It's a good name," she murmured. "Thank you."

"I have never used it. If you dislike it, I will find you another. Not my mother's. Legard. I have decided that I do not want that one. But you may have any other name that you like."

She held the picture out to him. "But this is _your_ name."

"No. It was _his_ name. And I am not him." Erik paused and took it back into his hands. He stared down at the photograph, his expression hidden behind the mask. "It means unyielding."

She settled her arms around him again. "Then it's perfect."

"If you like it, you may have it. That is all that matters."

"We'll both have it." A minute of silence passed. She rested her head against his shoulder and stared up at him, waiting for him to actually ask her the question that Raoul had asked over a year ago. Erik merely tilted his head against hers, his eyes distant.

He finally noticed that she was watching him. "Are you…in need of something?"

She gave him a half-smile and looked down. "No. You're not going back out, are you?"

"Not unless you are in need of something."

"No. I don't need anything. Stay here. " Christine reached up and removed the mask. He flinched as she ran her index finger over an irritated red portion of his right cheek. "You should find something more comfortable for when you have to go out. Plastic. Cloth. Anything but this hard mask. Why in the world did you choose porcelain?"

"It fit me."

"But doesn't it hurt your face?"

"Something so hideous deserved to suffer, I suppose."

"Erik. Don't say that." He closed his eyes as she put both palms on the sides of his ice-cold cheeks. She gave him a long kiss, eyes teary. She touched his hair with the tips of her fingers.

"There is not much left."

She drew back. "What?"

"Of my hair. There is not much. There used to be more."

"It's still soft."

"I wish that I were--"

"Erik," she interrupted. "Don't wish for everything to be different. We're here now. If things hadn't been as they were, you never would have found me."

"I would always find you," he softly protested.

She rubbed her hands over his back and shoulders, holding him near. He finally stopped speaking and succumbed to her kisses along his jaw and neck. They remained in an embrace until sunrise. Erik stayed quiet, always keeping an arm around her waist. His heart beat strongly beneath her ear.

At mid-morning, she ordered breakfast up to the room. Erik wasn't thrilled about somebody intruding into their space; he stood in a dark corner with his arms crossed while she answered the door. Once room service was gone, though, he consumed a piece of toast, slice of salty ham, and half a glass of juice. During their meal, the corners of Christine's mouth involuntarily twitched upwards. She'd managed to hide her smile for a little while, knowing that he would probably mistake her joy for amusement.

Always aware, Erik noticed immediately. "_What _is so humorous?" There was a crack in his voice as he turned away from her.

"Oh. No. Erik." She touched his shoulder. "Nothing's funny. I'm just happy that you're eating now. You never did before."

He slowly turned back around, closely eyeing her. "I see." She erased her smile and took his hand, and they finished eating. The rest of the morning was spent in the peace of the dim room, kisses and touches exchanged throughout the quiet hours. It was surreal to have time together without the constant threat of death and destruction waiting behind every corner. Her only wish was that Nadir had survived to see these moments.

Erik only tensed when she stood and put on a sweatshirt over her t-shirt. "Are you leaving?"

"I'm going to go talk to Gavin for a little while. You're welcome to come with me." Having Erik, Gavin, and possibly Raoul in the same room together wasn't the ideal scenario. After all they had been through, though, surely the three men wouldn't kill each other.

Erik hesitated. "No. I will stay here."

"All right." She kissed him goodbye. "We'll go out some evening after my foot is better." Erik nodded, relaxing again.

She limped to Gavin's room and knocked. He answered immediately, fully washed and clothed in jeans and a polo shirt. The lights in the room were all on, and several papers were spread out on the table. "Morning!" he greeted, stepping back to allow her inside.

"Good morning," she replied. Her gaze traveled around the room. "Did Raoul ever come back up?"

"Nope. Haven't seen him."

"Hm." Her brow furrowed.

"I guess he just wanted some time to himself." Gavin pulled out a chair for her, and Christine hobbled over to it. Never again would she take walking for granted. "How are you and Erik doing?"

"We're fine. He told me his last name and said that I could have it." She grinned. "I think that was his proposal."

Gavin chuckled and sat across from her. "What? No getting down on one knee and reciting a love poem?"

Christine laughed and touched her ring. "Erik has his own way of doing things."

"Heh. I've noticed. Well…great! Congratulations."

"Thanks!"

He pushed an open box of food toward her in offering of the contents. "So…any idea what you're going to do after all this is over? I'm dying to get back home."

Christine picked up a frosted cream-filled pastry and began to munch on it. "Erik and I will go back to the U.S., I think. If I can sell my old house, I'll have some money. We might rent a small apartment for a little while. I could work and maybe go back to school. Those were my original plans, anyway."

"What do you think Erik will do? With his spare time, I mean?"

"He needs some time to rest and unwind. He needs to know that no one is trying to hurt him." Gavin nodded in agreement. She hesitated, fingering the soft corner of a napkin. "And then I guess…I don't know. I want to take him places--definitely the movies and the opera. He has his music. Maybe he can…well…We'll just see what happens." She couldn't predict every moment of their lives; she could only be grateful that they had a chance to live.

"Right." Gavin paused before speaking again. "If you guys want, you could come back to Boston for awhile. I'll be nearby."

"No. I don't want to disturb you and Marisol. I've put you both through enough. Plus, I don't know if Erik will want to live in the middle of a city."

"But you need a friend." He looked her in the eye. "You can't isolate yourself from everything. And after Marisol knows you're married, she won't be suspicious. She'll probably want to do couples' activities with you. And then I'll have to explain to her that Erik isn't into luncheons and tennis doubles."

She laughed at the image. "I don't know…."

"It's not like we have to see each other every day. You don't have to come over at all if you don't want. But just remember that…."

"Remember what?"

Gavin released a stifled chuckle. "Well, that Erik isn't exactly used to domestic life. You may have some rough spots. Heck! I'm a fairly normal guy, and I'm failing at married life."

"You're not failing, Gavin. I'm making you fail." Her expression became serious. "I know it won't always be easy. Nothing about this last year has been easy. But it is getting better. Did you know that Erik found Frederick and Leonie that night?"

"Really?"

"Yes. Even if he had killed them, I think I would have understood. But he restrained himself."

"That is good to hear. Maybe you both will be fine. I'm not saying that you're destined for failure. I'm just saying that you should have a little support in the beginning. Everyone needs that. You guys, especially."

His words sunk in a little more. "Thanks, Gavin. I'll talk to Erik about it. We'd have to make the decision together."

He nodded, seemingly satisfied. "Fair enough."

"First, we need to decide what to do about the press," she murmured. "They're still standing out there."

"Yeah. Raoul and I can deal. But it's not good to have them around Erik. Maybe you could try another hotel. Or there's that friend of a friend I told you about."

"That's true." Lines of worry creased her forehead. "Do you think any of the government agents knew about Erik? I could never tell when they were questioning me."

Gavin shrugged. "They might have been a little suspicious." Her frown deepened. "But it'd be really hard to get enough evidence against him and differentiate his crimes from _Falcon's._ Even if they did, it'd be a terrible time to bring it out. Everyone hates _Falcon_. Erik might be seen as some sort of noble fighter. The government may not pursue it. As long as…."

"As long as there are no more deaths."

"Right." A moment of silence passed between them. "I think it would take a lot for Erik to risk losing you."

She beamed with gratitude. "I think so, too." Christine finished off the pastry and picked up a chocolate-frosted one.

Gavin laughed. "Glad to see your appetite is back."

"Yeah. This is the first time I've been hungry in awhile. Erik's been eating, too. Ever since I've come to London, he's seemed stronger. I think we keep each other alive."

They chatted for a few more minutes about travel expenses and other mundane topics. After finishing the second pastry, Christine grabbed the crutch and stood. "I'd better get back to Erik. Let me know if Raoul comes in."

"I will." Gavin opened the door for her. "Let me know if you need anything. See you later."

"See you," she replied, returning to her room.

Despite her protests, Erik wanted to go out again after dinner that evening. "I will be very brief," he stated. "I simply need to gather certain materials for my music and get some air. Are you in need of anything? I will get it for you."

"No. I'm fine," she replied, nibbling on her lip. Christine went to her suitcase and took about fifty British pounds out of the side pocket. After Raoul and Gavin had access to their bank accounts, they'd each made a hefty withdrawal. She hadn't been able to get into her account, but her two friends had gladly given her enough to stay comfortable. She held the money out to Erik. "This should be enough."

He stared at it with obvious disdain. "I cannot simply walk up to a counter and make purchases at this hour. Or at any hour. I have attempted to do so. The cashiers nearly experienced heart failure."

"I understand," she replied, keeping her voice steady. "It would be dangerous if someone saw you. Just leave the money there. Somebody will find it."

"What difference does it really make?"

"It's just nice to pay for things." She didn't really know how to put it. When they were running for their lives, stealing had been necessary to survive and fight against a vicious corporation. It didn't seem right anymore, though.

He stared down at her. "It will make you happy?"

"Yes." She brushed her thumb against his hand as she handed him the money. "We can buy what we need now."

Something mournful flickered in his yellow eyes as he tied on the mask and left the room. It was only after Erik returned from his outing that Christine understood which nerve she had pinched.

* * *

Theft.

He'd committed the crime a few times in India, usually because he hadn't wanted to face the prodding eyes of the store clerks. A slight twinge of guilt always followed the act. After prison, though, he hadn't thought twice about it.

It wasn't that he had some compulsion to steal. He'd never received an adrenaline rush from taking things. It was simply necessary for survival and vengeance. The world owed him, didn't it? The world had never given him a chance to earn a living under normal circumstances. And so he took what he wanted without giving a damn.

His beloved did not hate theft as much as death. But she still obviously wasn't fond of it. How was he ever to obtain anything for her without theft, ransoms, and extortion?

He didn't know the answer to that question. It shamed and infuriated him.

He gathered an expensive brand of paper and gold-rimmed pens, refusing to write his precious music on anything less. In the name of Christine, he left all the money on the counter. A slight bitterness crept into his thoughts as he left the store and headed for the hotel, intruding on the happiness and contentment.

His mood wasn't helped when he caught sight of de Chagny while coming through the side entrance of the hotel. Dressed in an expensive grey suit and jacket, the boy was glancing to both sides of the hallway, obviously trying to avoid the photographers. A man in a security uniform walked up to the boy and whispered something, pointing a thumb toward the door. De Chagny murmured a reply and rubbed his temples, looking every bit the groomed businessman. The other man quickly walked away.

Crouched in a corner near the stairwell, _he _stopped and stared as de Chagny took a cautious step toward the door. The boy suddenly started and looked up at him, perhaps catching sight of his glowing eyes. De Chagny stared back for several seconds before shaking his head and turning away. "_You_. You'd better take damn good care of her," he muttered.

_He _cringed. It was the absolute worst thing that de Chagny could have said to him. Only a year ago, the boy would have been elegantly hanging from one of the lampposts for that remark.

"You took everything from me," the boy continued, still turned around.

"If you believe that, then you truly do not know the meaning of losing everything." He kept his voice at a whisper, speaking directly into the boy's ear.

De Chagny paused and put his hands in his jacket pockets. "You took everything that mattered, then."

"Whether you will admit it to yourself, _she_ came to me. I love her for no reason to do with you."

"How do you plan to take care of her?"

The bitterness returned. "That is not your concern." _He_ started to leave before he lost his temper.

"Would you like a check to get you started? So you can at least buy her a decent house?"

"I do not want your money!" he snapped. "I have what I want."

"Think of it as your part of all the lawsuit money that's coming. _We _owe you, right? Hell. If Phillip had paid you, none of this might have happened."

He whirled around._ "I do not want your money!"_

The boy took another step toward the door. "Fine. I just don't want her to starve."

"I will never let her suffer. Now leave me." _Even if I have to steal, she will not suffer…._

De Chagny nodded and reached for the door handle. He hesitated. "Tell her I said goodbye. I'm getting a room closer to my lawyers."

_He _paused in his steps, utterly annoyed. "You may say goodbye to her. I do not have my fiancée isolated in a dungeon. She is free to speak to you."

The boy flinched at the middle sentence. "No. I'm tired of saying goodbye to her. Tell her I wish her all the best." De Chagny pushed open the door and rushed outside, keeping his head low as he raced toward a white car at the side of the street. Several cameras flashed. Perhaps if the boy was leaving, the press would leave soon, too.

_He _turned and headed for the stairs. Joy, bitterness, victory, and confusion overwhelmed his thoughts. When he entered the room, he was immediately greeted with a hug. _His _Christine. "What's wrong?" she asked as he glanced toward the window.

"I saw de Chagny." Her eyes widened. Before she could rush to any horrific assumptions, he spoke again. "He left and gave you his farewell."

"He did?" She pursed her lips. "I would have told him goodbye."

"He did not want you to."

"Oh. Maybe I'll see him at the trial." She brushed a strand of hair from her face and sighed. He saw a glimpse of sadness in her eyes and prayed that it wasn't regret. "Well, I hope he'll be okay." Christine took a seat on the bed and leaned against a pillow. He stiffly walked away and sat in the chair.

The television was turned to the news at a low volume. The commentators were discussing the pending criminal trials and the charges against Ms. Neumanns. Christine stared at the screen with her arms folded against her chest as they went over the wretched woman's possible defenses.

"Erik?"

"What?" His mouth was dry, and the reply came out much harsher than he meant it to be.

She bit her lip. "Never mind."

"I did not intend to sound cruel," he stated. "Do not fear speaking to me. Nothing you say could ever be as foul as the insults that came out of _that _wench's mouth. And she is still quite alive."

"I'm not afraid of you. You just sounded like you wanted to be left alone."

"I do not ever want to be left alone. Please say whatever you wish." He braced himself for…something.

"I just wanted you to come sit with me. I'm a little nervous about the trial, I guess." He stared at her, feeling strangely relieved. She stared back. "What did you think I was going to say?"

"I do not know."

"Did something happen tonight? Is everything okay?"

He suddenly realized that all his apprehension and paranoia had been in his mind. There was no impending doom. The war against _Falcon_ had almost been won; the battles against himself were still in progress.

"Erik?" She was staring at him with concern.

"Yes. All is fine." He swallowed. "It will simply take time for me to quite comprehend why you…I…just need time…time to understand…. Because I never thought…." He choked. "I have very little with which to take care of you."

"Oh, Erik. Don't worry about that now," she immediately replied. "All that matters is we're alive. We'll be fine together. I'm selling my house, and that will bring some money. And Gavin might help out; he might even get a big book deal. I can work."

"You should not have to."

She shrugged. "I would have had to work anyway."

"The boy."

"What about him?"

_He_ twisted in the seat. "He would not have made you work."

Christine was silent for a moment. "Even if you hadn't come back to me, I still wouldn't have married Raoul. It wouldn't have been fair to him, using him like a crutch while I mourned over you. I would have gone off on my own."

Calmness trickled back into his mind. She did not have the false belief that he could buy her a mansion. She understood. "You should not ever be alone," he murmured. "Shadows will prey upon you."

"Well, I'm not alone now."

"It will still take time for me to comprehend all of this. I need…time…with you." He closed his eyes.

"We have lots of time." He nodded and opened his eyes. "Are you going to sit with me?" she asked with a smile.

"I told the boy you were my fiancée."

She blinked. "I guess there's no reason why Raoul shouldn't know the truth."

He couldn't resist her any longer, feeling as though he might die of love right there. His heart was squeezed with pleasure as he came to sit with her. A sob escaped the back of his throat before he could stop it. The mask disappeared in a grayish blur. He soon found himself reclining with his head against her shoulder as she leaned back onto a plush pillow. Her warm arms were securely wrapped around his body. Even without a nose, he was able to detect the scents of shampoo and lotion.

The news continued to discuss Ms. Neumanns. Christine wrinkled her nose at the screen and reached for the remote control. "I hope she goes to prison. I don't think I could stand it if she were free to come after to us." He felt her shudder as she turned off the television.

"That woman will destroy nothing else in my life," he softly replied, feeling his love's hair tickle his cheek. He pressed himself closer to her. "One way or another, there will be justice."

She didn't protest the statement.

Christine turned off the lights and snuggled down to kiss him.

And he felt that he belonged there and nowhere else.


	74. Beginnings

Well, here is the last chapter to "When All is Lost." I can't tell you how much I've enjoyed writing this story and hearing from all my readers. I'm glad that everyone has come to love the characters. This chapter will have some mature references, but I'm pretty sure it falls within the rating.

No promises here, but there's the chance that I may post a few vignettes of what happened afterward under a different title. Several people have specifically asked me for them. They'll probably be a mix of drama, romance, and a little realistic angst. I promise that I won't be killing any characters, though :) To those who aren't interested, I still thank you for reading this story.

Some of you have also mentioned that you're going to go back and read it again now that it's complete. Please tell me if you see any inconsistencies. In a story this long, it's sometimes hard to catch everything.

Thank you again for all your support. And an enormous thanks to _MadLizzy _for all her help with this story.

**Read and Review!!!**

After Raoul had left the hotel without a goodbye, the press had also disappeared. The knowledge that they weren't about to be pounced upon by photographers calmed Christine's nerves. She, Erik, and Gavin remained in the same rooms over the next month, the criminal trial ruining their attempts at complete peace and relaxation. Despite Erik's insistence that he hated the 'talking box,' he watched the news nearly every night, following the developments at the courthouse.

Frederick was quickly declared unfit to stand trial. Erik had glared upon learning that, his hands curling into fists and the fiery gleam returning to his eyes. "There will never be justice," he had practically growled. "Every institution in the world is corrupt."

"They said that Frederick is barely functional," she assured him. "He might have suffered several strokes. He'll need care for the rest of his life."

"If he ever becomes sane again, I will be the first thing that he sees."

She'd sighed and leaned back. Erik calmed down a few hours later, the anger in his eyes fading to weariness. "After all these years, I merely wish it to be over," he'd muttered.

"I do, too," she'd replied, resting a hand on his arm. "And it will be."

At some point, Christine discovered that she wouldn't have to testify. The government more or less told her that she could go home and resume her life. Erik wanted to stay in London until Leonie's trial was over, though, and she felt the need for resolution as well.

Much to his annoyance, Gavin was required to stay in the city. He was called to the courtroom over a period of two days and had returned from the trial looking exhausted, tugging at his white shirt collar as though it were strangling him.

"How'd it go?" she'd asked.

"_Falcon_ has some brutal lawyers," he'd replied. "It was hard keeping Erik out of everything I said. But I really tried."

"Did you see Leonie?"

"Yep. And if looks could kill, I'd be long dead."

Christine had caught sight of Leonie on the news a couple of times. The older woman's hair was carefully styled over the right side of her face. She appeared paler and thinner, the wrinkles of age more evident on her visage. Still, her eyes were emotionless, and the visible side of her mouth remained in a straight line. Only once was a statement from her given to the press.

"I merely served as a figurehead and spokesperson for this company," she'd written. "I was completely unaware of any wrongdoings by lower level management and had no power over any of the day-to-day operations. My heart goes out to any victims of this accidental and unfortunate tragedy. But why the government wants to use an elderly, retired woman as a scapegoat is far beyond me."

Christine rolled her eyes at hearing that.

Erik spoke, his teeth gritted. "I should have--" He paused in the middle of the sentence. "I should have erased her from our lives."

"You did what was right."

"Did I? Perhaps it would have been better for mankind if I had killed her."

"I…don't know," she replied. "Let's just wait for the verdict."

Erik wasn't quite finished. "You know why she will not speak to the press herself?" He sounded all too pleased.

"Why?"

"Because she will sound atrocious with half her mouth torn apart. Watching her attempt to form coherent sounds would be far too amusing."

"Oh, Erik." She managed to hide her slight satisfaction; Erik was vengeful enough for both of them.

Raoul was also called in to testify, but Christine never knew what was said. She trusted her friend to try and keep Erik's name out of his statements. Still, she worried that the pressure of the courtroom might cause Raoul to break down. Erik had noticed her staring at the television with her knees drawn up to her chest. "What is wrong?" he'd asked, glancing at the screen.

"I'm worried someone will say something about you."

"The boy."

She hesitated. "Yes."

Erik had been silent for a moment, and she hoped that he wasn't devising creative ways of keeping Raoul quiet. "Yes. It would be a miracle if de Chagny kept his mouth closed. Perhaps we should change locations. It is not wise to remain in one place for so long."

She slowly nodded, feeling more secure with that idea. "Yes. If Gavin helps, we could get another room. Maybe after I get my brace off, we can go."

Also wary about staying there for the duration of the trial, Gavin agreed to move to a cheaper hotel on the outskirts of the city. He also accompanied her in a taxi to get her ankle examined. Their several hour absence had unnerved Erik. "If anything happens to her, I will kill you," he stated, towering over Gavin.

"I know," Gavin replied, shaking his head as he helped her down the hall. They had few problems during the short trip. Her brace was removed, and she was given advice not to overuse her ankle for another few weeks. When she got back to the room, Erik had pulled her close and kissed her. He was rarely so bold with his affections, usually waiting for her to initiate contact. She hoped it wasn't the last time that he acted first.

An evening later, they quietly changed hotels. She and Gavin kept their heads low. Erik held her hand throughout the taxi ride, his free hand staying near his jacket pocket and his muscles tense. Gavin checked in when they arrived, and she and Erik had dodged into their room. The interior wasn't nearly as nice with chipped paint, cracks in the ceiling, and a few holes in the bedspread, but she appreciated that there were fewer security cameras.

Once they were inside, she dead-bolted the door and embraced him. "We made it!" Erik nodded once, but his eyes remained alert. Sometimes Christine wondered if his paranoia would ever completely disappear. She was given reason to be optimistic, though.

Overall, he seemed healthy when they were alone together. His shoulders were often relaxed, and his eyes didn't burn with that frightening glow. He rarely coughed, and his breathing was steady. She occasionally asked him how he was feeling, and Erik always curtly replied that he was perfectly fine. If his cough did ever return, they would deal with it then. There were plenty of safe treatments for things like allergies and asthma. Christine hoped that the remedy lay with a clean environment, nutrition, and rest.

His place was now beside her every night. "It is good to not awaken and have nothing," he'd said upon first waking in her arms. After that, she'd started calling him to sit with her each night. One evening, Christine had emerged from the bathroom after brushing her teeth and saw that he'd settled onto the bed by himself. His thin body was almost lost within the thick comforter, and his head sank into the large pillows. They'd stared at each other, his eyes uncertain, and then she'd jumped in beside him with a smile the size of London.

They often shared kisses and caresses throughout the late hours, and she felt the driving need to be as near to him as possible. Erik was slightly bolder when the lights were off—when she could no longer see him. He kissed her neck and allowed his cold, trembling hands to trail down her waist, his fingers brushing against her cotton pajamas. Even as she began to feel the jagged scars on his arms and neck, her love for him continued to thrive and grow.

One night, she nearly lost herself in the warm, euphoric feelings. Erik had frozen. Noticing his motionlessness, she had stilled her wandering hands and looked into his eyes. Christine hesitated as her composure returned, wondering if she'd done something wrong. He finally spoke in a barely audible voice. "I know you will never leave. I know that is true now."

"I won't ever leave," she reaffirmed, letting a hand rest on his cheek. "I'm going to be your wife." She felt him nod beneath her fingertips.

"I believe you." His hand rested over hers. "But…I have had very little that was ever mine. Everything has always been taken. And—I know that it is asinine ritual—but I wish to know that I may keep you. I wish to wed you."

"I understand."

"And time…" He tapered off.

"What?"

"Nothing. I simply need more time."

She pressed her lips to his and continued to stroke his cheek. "It's fine. We're fine." For several reasons, including one that could be disastrous given the present situation, she knew that it was better to wait. With no more questions, Christine went back to fervent kisses and massaged his shoulders until he relaxed again.

"I wish to wed you as soon as possible," he'd murmured right before she closed her eyes.

Sometimes Erik slept, and, for the most part, he was a quiet sleeper. Every so often, he would flinch or twitch. She didn't know whether it was a reflex or if he was experiencing some horrible nightmare of a memory. Although parts of his past were still a mystery to her, she was worldly enough to makes guesses about what might have happened during those ten atrocious years.

Some nights he wouldn't sleep. She awoke one time to see his yellow eyes staring down at her in the dark. "If you can't sleep, you can get up," she offered. "I don't mind. You won't wake me."

"I wish to stay here." Erik sounded almost defensive, as though he thought she would force him to move.

"All right. That's fine." She'd kissed him and gone back to sleep, eventually getting used to the idea of his constant gaze upon her.

The trial continued after they had changed rooms, but the press gave little information about what was occurring. While Christine was reading a novel that Erik had 'purchased' from a bookstore, she saw him suddenly jump from his chair and stare at the screen. An older man with a grey moustache was passing by, oblivious to the cameras as he went inside a brick building. Lines of age and exhaustion were evident on his face.

"What's wrong?" she asked. "Who's that?"

"Emerson," he murmured.

She looked back at the television in shock, but the man had disappeared. "He came to testify then." She bit her lip. "I don't know whether to be grateful or hate him."

"Why would you ever hate him?"

"Because he was going to kill you."

"He was being kind."

Christine shook her head. "I don't know. I still can't like him for that." Erik didn't say anything else.

Her feelings toward Emerson warmed after she learned that he had given 'damning evidence.' It was also discovered that some former employees of _Falcon_ were beginning to come forward, perhaps testifying against Leonie in a bargain to get short sentences for themselves. The trial seemed to move quickly after that. The newspaper headlines read, "Theft? Murder? What Next?" and, "Organized Crime, Inc."

She grew tense and was unable to concentrate on almost anything unrelated to the trial. Sometime she would stand behind Erik and watch him compose, attempting to make sense out of the messy notes. He never seemed to mind, even when she briefly interrupted him for a kiss. On some nights, they took short walks around the hotel together, and she was able to clear her head. Erik never liked being enclosed in one space for very long, and he acted pleased with her company as they glanced over the window displays of closed stores.

And then, one day late in spring, it was announced that there would be a verdict. Her heart had jumped. She couldn't sleep that night, preferring to lean against Erik's shoulder and make him help her with a crossword puzzle. They got all but four words that involved British sitcoms, and Erik declared that a television-obsessed moron had designed the puzzle. She'd tossed it aside and waited for morning.

The next day came. That afternoon, Christine prepared herself for the verdict, staring wide-eyed at the television screen and gripping Erik's left arm. One word could bring them peace. If there was an acquittal, she knew that Erik would consider administering his own penalty upon the woman. And she couldn't bear the thought of waiting for him to return from another death mission. She didn't want any more murder—not because she had any warm feelings toward Leonie but because it would be another chip in Erik's fragile soul.

She held onto Erik as the reporters waited. He was intently staring at the screen with a clenched jaw. Horrible, painful silence continued.

Silence.

Silence.

Christine released a frustrated cry. "Just read it!"

And then it came.

"Guilty!" she exclaimed. Leonie Neumanns had been convicted of fraud, bribery, false imprisonment, and conspiracy to commit murder. Christine's heart pounded wildly, and she threw her arms around Erik's neck.

Erik didn't react for several moments. "She will want a new trial," he muttered.

"I know. But it's a start! She's been declared guilty in front of everyone."

"I suppose. Yes. It is a start."

An hour or so later, Raoul gave a speech to the media. He looked dignified in his dark tailored suit, his combed hair moving lightly with the breeze. "I apologize on behalf of everyone involved," her friend stated into the microphone. "No words can describe some of the horrors that occurred because of _Falcon's _irresponsible and despicable actions. And no words can make up for what has happened. All I can offer you is the promise that wrongs will slowly be righted over the coming months and years."

Erik turned away from the television. "He is merely saving his precious face."

"I can't really blame him for that," she murmured, silently wishing Raoul the best.

Gavin knocked on the door late that afternoon and asked her if they both wanted to go out for a celebratory dinner. His giant grin was evidence of his mood. Christine told him that she would ask Erik, and Gavin gave her a cheery goodbye and left.

"Gavin wants to go out to eat," she said, knowing this conversation wouldn't have an ideal end. "As a celebration."

"I see." Erik paused and then gestured to the door with his hand. "You may go."

"I want you to come with us."

"You know that is impossible."

She frowned. "Your black mask might make people a little nervous. But maybe if --"

"And the sight of my face would make them fall over dead," he snapped. She looked down. Erik softened his tone. "Go. Enjoy your evening. I will wait here for you."

* * *

He watched as she stared at him for a long, uncomfortable minute. Christine finally kissed his right cheek, slipped on her shoes, and left the room. After turning off the television, he sat in a chair to wait for her and attempted to concentrate on his composition. It would only be an hour. Two hours at the most. He had learned months ago that she would wilt if he kept her isolated. 

She was back in three minutes. He sharply looked up as she entered the room. "Did you forget something?" His mouth was dry.

Christine shrugged. "I told Gavin we could have dinner another time. I wanted to spend the evening with you. This is our celebration tonight. We could go for a walk. Or we could stay here and order something…"

She was beautiful in the dim lighting, her long blonde hair splayed like beams of light around a sky-blue turtleneck. And she had come back. He jumped up, sensing that she wished to go outside. "We could find a place for the violin," he suggested. "It has been some time."

Her face brightened. "All right!"

He grabbed the violin case, and they departed, a half-moon lighting their way. Cars, buses, and the occasional pedestrian passed by them; he kept careful watch but sensed no threats. The shadows of the older brick buildings placed them in a protective cocoon. They were both isolated and surrounded, and it was somehow perfect.

He recalled a conversation that he'd had with Nadir over two decades ago.

_Are there places where people live only during the nighttime?_

_There are jobs where people work at night. And…And in the cities, people are out at night all of the time. They keep everything lit up. Restaurants and theaters….Maybe you will see that someday._

_Yes. I will go to the city and live only during the nighttime. I will see everything, but no one will see me._

A few weeks ago, Christine had mentioned moving to a city, possibly to be closer to Mr. Lewis for a period of time. The idea hadn't appealed to him then, but perhaps it would create an environment where they could live during both the night and day. She could have her sunlight, and he could take her places after sunset. Yes. Yes, that could work. It could. Her cheek rested against his shoulder, breaking him from his thoughts.

"Was Mr. Lewis disappointed?" he asked, glancing down at the top of her head.

"No. I think he was busy writing something on his computer. Maybe the first chapter of his book." She softly laughed.

"If he ever writes his book, tell him to kindly leave my name out of it."

"I think he's going to suggest that you were one of _Falcon's _creations."

"Ah. So I will be a villain, then. Excellent."

Christine looked up at him. "I could have him make you the hero."

He cringed. "No. De Chagny can be that. The boy is perfect for the role. Let me be a ghost."

"A ghost?"

"Yes. A mysterious…_thing_ that no one quite comprehends."

"I think that's kind of what Gavin was going for," she replied.

"Good."

She tightened her hold on his arm. "But you're not a _thing_, Erik."

"Only to you."

They walked over a cobblestone pathway and beneath trees with white buds. There was a light breeze, but Christine didn't appear to be shivering. "This looks good," she said. They were in a city park of some type, near a wooden bench and an oval drinking fountain. No one else was in sight.

He tightened and rosined the bow before taking the instrument from its case and tuning it. He played some of her favorite classics, as well as his more recent compositions. Christine sat down and closed her eyes, a tiny smile crossing her face. At some point, he stopped playing and looked at her, feeling that the night could be perfect with one more addition. "Will you sing?"

She opened her eyes. "I'm a little out of practice…"

"It is fine. I merely wish to hear you again."

"Well…okay." He helped her warm up for several minutes. She then sang one of the arias that he had taught her a year ago. As her divine voice surrounded him, he remembered hearing her for the first time, the initial crack in a thick wall of ice…the first ray of light in a pitch-black chasm of hate. Until that moment, he hadn't known that he was capable of wanting anything except blood and vengeance. And then there had been unspeakable agony as he was suddenly faced with what he would never have.

Or _thought_ he would never have.

Christine had stopped singing and was staring at his silent form. "Like I said, I'm really out of practice," she muttered with a soft laugh. "I guess I should—"

"You were fine."

She blinked. "I wasn't…_wretched_?"

"No. You were perfectly fine."

She laughed again. "I know I was terrible. I don't even think you were listening."

"I heard you." Now that he had so much more of her than her voice, perhaps the need for vocal perfection seemed less important.

Christine began to sing again, deliberately staying off-key and screeching at the higher notes. He looked down at her and tilted his head. She stopped singing, playing with him. "How was that?"

"It was…perfectly dreadful."

"Thank you."

He held his arms open, and she embraced him. There were still many things he wanted to tell her. But he couldn't—not yet. Still, he searched for something…anything. And then he realized that she'd just given him the ideal words. Simple, succinct, and perfect. And he meant them with every part of his being.

He said them once, but they came out muffled.

"What?"

"Thank you," he whispered. "Thank you."

* * *

_One Month Later_

She wanted to visit both her parents' graves before she got married and left Chicago.

At least that was what she told Erik.

The trip back to her home state had taken weeks. Erik had refused to be confined to an airplane, and so they had taken a ship. Desperate to get home to his wife, Gavin had bid them farewell and hopped on a plane.

Although she'd become a little seasick halfway through the journey, their cabin had been warm and cozy. In the evenings, they'd strolled on deck and admired the Atlantic Ocean. In some ways, it was the perfect trip back home for them, unrushed and quiet. The few other passengers didn't pay them much attention, and Erik was able to sneak off the ship unnoticed.

With Gavin's help--he'd already had two job offers-- she'd rented a Toyota to drive back home and finish her business. Although her house wasn't officially sold, she didn't want to live in a place where old classmates might recognize her and prod into her business. She wasn't even sure how Meg would react to Erik. Meg was generally a sweet person, but Christine remembered her as being slightly shallow when it came to men. It would be better for them to start somewhere new.

Erik sat in the passenger seat while she drove. Generally, they stayed out from late afternoon to early morning, stopping to rest during the hours when the sun was highest in the sky. It was surreal to be back home after all those months—to be doing something as normal as driving. She sometimes felt as though she were in a daze. Erik would also become very quiet, and she once asked him if he was okay. He chuckled and said, "Oh, my dear. I do not know if I will ever be _okay_. But I am half-sane and quite content, if that is what you mean."

Her old house was completely cleaned out, but she didn't want to spend any more money on hotels. After getting into her bank account, she bought some sleeping bags, food, toiletries, and other necessities. Erik didn't seem to mind the present living conditions, contenting himself with her and his music. Considering the places he'd stayed, though, maybe this wasn't so bad.

His eyes lit up more than usual as he read over a newspaper one morning.

"What is it?" she asked.

He held up the front page for her to see. Leonie had been sentenced to sixty years in prison.

Christine saved that newspaper; she planned to laminate it.

After getting in touch with the real estate agent, she discovered that there was still one family who was interested in the house. The offer wasn't quite as much as she'd wanted, but Christine decided to accept it and move on with her life. After thinking it over, she chose not to even visit Meg. It would've been nice to see her friend again, but Meg would have a million difficult questions. Plus, the more people who knew they were there, the more difficult it would be to keep their privacy. Erik's sanity might disintegrate in the face of nosy neighbors.

During the last few days of their stay, he spoke in a commanding tone. "I wish to wed you."

She'd been folding a blanket and looked up with a smile. "We will." Christine frowned. "We just need a way to…make you some documents. I'm not sure how that works…"

"I assure you that it is no complicated matter to forge a few documents."

"Forgery?"

"We are not committing theft or murder. I am a phantom in this nation. How else do you suggest we get such things?"

"I…All right," she finally replied. "If that's the safest way we can get married."

"It is. The quickest way, too." The mask was off, and Erik's expression was one of longing.

It was then that she decided to visit each of her parents' graves before they left, to get their blessings for the union. She casually told Erik that they were buried at two different cemeteries, and he quickly agreed to accompany her.

They'd gone to her father's grave on the first evening. Erik had silently stood back as she placed fresh flowers by the headstone and wiped tears from her eyes. He still wasn't experienced at offering words of comfort, but his arms had felt good around her shoulders when she'd run back to him.

The next night she'd wanted to go where her mother was buried. Either she'd never told Erik or he didn't remember just what also lay in that location. Only when she began to drive over the beaten road and toward a thick forested area did Erik sit up straight. He turned toward her. A raspy word escaped his lips. "_Why?_"

"This is where my mother is buried," she calmly replied.

"You know very well where this is!" he exclaimed. "Why would you come back here?"

"It _is_ where my mother is buried," she repeated. "And I wanted to come here one last time. I wanted to see the house again. Please, Erik."

He stared forward as the headlights washed over the graveyard and gnarled trees, hands clenched into fists. She parked the car at the side of the road and turned off the engine. Silently, she climbed out and went through the gates, approaching her mother's headstone. Erik followed. After placing flowers on the grave and saying a few words of goodbye to the woman she'd barely known, Christine stood and looked off into the distance.

Without a word, she left the cemetery and made her way down the path and into the trees. Erik walked beside her, his shoulders tense as his eyes wandered over the woodlands. He said nothing to stop her, though, and she guessed that a part of him wanted to see it, too. The forest seemed to whisper as they made their way forward. The crickets had already begun their symphony. She braced herself to see the foreboding house again, to look at the dim dining room where'd she received her lessons and ascend the creaking stairs to the bedrooms.

At some point, Christine stopped and stared--at nothing. _Hadn't the house been closer to the graveyard than this? _She took a few more steps forward, confused.

And then she realized that the house was gone. It had been torn down, leaving only a rectangular brown spot with minimal vegetation to mark where it had once stood. Erik still said nothing. She sighed.

After a moment, Christine stepped onto the large patch where the house had once been. She continued to hear the whispers as she closed her eyes. A deep shiver ran down her spine, as though dozens of ghosts had simultaneously brushed against her bare skin. Goosebumps ran up and down her arms and torso. In her mind, she suddenly saw Maddy, Trenton, and the deceased members of _Falcon_. She saw her own parents. She saw Buquet and Darius and Nadir and Hamideh. Nadir nodded once at her.

She felt cold fingers brush against her cheek and opened her eyes. Erik was stroking her face and eyeing her with concern. "I am afraid there is little left of it."

"No. It's fine." She quickly stepped away from the former foundation and took his hand, feeling safer at his side.

"Does it hold such horrible memories for you?"

"Not at all. It's just a little overwhelming, I guess." She started moving in the opposite direction, clutching his hand as the faint whispers continued behind her. "Let's go back now."

"And then we can wed," he stated.

"Yes. We'll do everything we want now." She walked closer to his tall form, and he rested an arm around her shoulders.

The whispers only stopped once they climbed into the warm car together, freeing them to drive far away from the cemetery and the desolate woods.

And freeing them to spend many well-deserved years in the world of the living.

_**FIN**_


End file.
